Publicity
by csiAngel
Summary: CG - Chapters 17 and 18 up now! FINISHED! Catherine and Grissom are on the case of an actor who has been receiving death threats
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer - the characters etc of CSI do not belong to me, they belong to the producers, writers, actors and everyone else involved in making the show, I just borrow them.  
  
Spoilers - set after season three, so could contain references to anything that has happened on the show. Nothing really specific, but some references to Lady Heather's Box.  
  
Publicity  
  
Chapter One  
  
As she entered the room she saw him push the paper into his pocket. His futile attempt at hiding the letter told her it must be the same as the others. Suppressing the anger that built up inside her at the fact that he was going to hide it from her again, she continued her entrance to the room. Though she was not going to shout this time, she was not going to let it go.  
  
"Is that another one?" she asked, seriously, as she dropped her shopping bags onto a nearby chair. She stood one hand on the back of the chair, the other on her hip, eyes locked firmly with his, and waited for his response.  
  
He tried to pull his gaze away from her, to free his eyes from the trap she held them in, but it was pointless. He was constantly trying to figure out the source of her power over him, but the answer eluded him. There was just something about her that kept him under her spell. A trance he had fallen into five years ago, when they first met.  
  
His hesitation was evident in his face. Seeing it she intensified her expression. He knew he couldn't run. So he didn't try.  
  
"Yeah. Was here when I got home," he said, in a concerned tone.  
  
"Here?!" she exclaimed, stepping towards him, in an instinctive move to protect him.  
  
He nodded slowly.  
  
"In the mail box?" she asked, as if she had read his mind and knew what he was concealing.  
  
His response was inaudible and she had to ask him to repeat it.  
  
"On the table," he said, louder but still very quiet, because he knew she wouldn't like it.  
  
"That's it! I'm calling the police," she insisted reaching for her purse to get her phone.  
  
His hand round her wrist stopped her. "They won't be able to do anything. The others couldn't. It's best we just keep it quiet. He might get bored."  
  
"He's been in the house, Marc. In here. In this room. He could have been waiting for you when you got home. Who knows what he might have done," she argued, fear overtaking the control she wished to show in this situation.  
  
"He wasn't and he didn't do anything. I don't think he'll actually go through with any of these threats. He just wants to see me panic."  
  
She steadied her voice as much as she could, so he couldn't claim she was being hysterical, and continued her side of the discussion. "But we don't know that. He followed you here. It's escalating from periodic notes. They're more frequent. They're in a different state. And they're being delivered to your living room. We should involve the police. They can send a crime scene team over. There might be some evidence in the room, or the grounds. He had to have got in somehow, he must have left some trace of himself behind."  
  
He softened his eyes to show that he understood, and appreciated, what she was saying, but said: "Once the police are involved, the press get involved. That's what he wants. Publicity."  
  
"Let him have it. If it means he gets caught and you are free of him. Let him have the publicity. He's gonna carry on til he gets it. And if you don't go to the police about the letters, he'll have to do something more drastic. Please, Marc."  
  
The look in her eyes was full of concern and fear, and there was no way he could bear to see her like that. He was scared, but this weakness, as he saw it, on his part was not good enough reason to call the police. The terror in her eyes was.  
  
*****  
  
Catherine swung her tahoe into the street and parked amongst the police vehicles that were already scattered across the road outside the house. As she jumped out of the car and was retrieving her kit from the back seat, she was surprised to see Grissom's tahoe pulling up behind her. She stopped what she was doing and frowned, subconsciously, at her boss as he walked towards her.  
  
"Catherine," he said, with a small nod.  
  
"Gil," she responded, more of a question than a statement.  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
"Movie star, likely to be a high profile case. I understand why I'm here, but . you?"  
  
Grissom shrugged. "I just . wanted to work with you," he said softly, with a sweet smile.  
  
Her response was a facial expression that said "Yeah, right!", but when he only smiled in return, she began to consider whether he was telling the truth. Her heart had fluttered when he said it, and now she felt her stomach tighten, and she inexplicably felt nervous.  
  
He saw her face take on a look of puzzlement, and he noticed that her breathing had become more rapid. Exactly the response he had hoped for. He had tested the water, but he was not ready to dive in yet. Before the silence lasted any longer and began to complicate anything, he spoke.  
  
"Nah, Mobley sent me," he smiled, as he handed her kit to her and shut the tahoe door.  
  
"Mobley?!" she asked using disbelief to shield her disappointment. "And you obeyed?"  
  
"Evidently," he offered, heading towards the house.  
  
Her head was beginning to hurt. He had flirted with her, and now he was saying he had followed an order from the Sheriff. She looked up at the sky. She couldn't see the moon, but felt sure that it must be full.  
  
"Does he think I can't handle it?" she asked, suddenly realising how insulting it was to have the Sheriff assign him to her case.  
  
Grissom stopped and turned round. "Of course not. But it's like you said, high profile."  
  
"Ah! We've got to look like we've got all our best people on it," she smiled, in understanding.  
  
He nodded, smiled the smile that made her heart melt each and every time, and, waving his hand in the direction of the house, said, "Shall we go in now?"  
  
*****  
  
Marc Weston was a tall man, his skin and hair giving him an Italian appearance, inherited from his mother, whilst his accent betrayed his upbringing in England, where his parents had met and fallen in love three years before his arrival. Being an actor, and constantly on the go, either rehearsing, filming or doing charity appearances for the many causes he supported, he kept himself in great shape, earning him a devout following from both women and men, and a sex symbol status. An honour quite rightly bestowed, Catherine noted upon introduction to the thirty-nine year old victim, whose grey eyes sparkled, giving them the appearance of being silver, and were definitely as entrancing as they seemed on screen, if not more so.  
  
"Hi. I'm Marc Weston, this is Ryanne Moores." He indicated the woman standing to his left, who smiled and nodded after her mention. "Thank you for coming."  
  
"Catherine Willows, Gil Grissom, Las Vegas Crime Lab," Catherine smiled, softly. "We're gonna need to know exactly what you've touched or moved since you returned to the house, and we'll need to speak to anyone who's been here."  
  
"I can arrange that," Ryanne said, touching Marc's arm to let him know he shouldn't worry, she would handle things.  
  
"Thank you," Catherine said, then turned back to Marc. "I'll start in the lounge. Could you show me where you found the letter?"  
  
Marc nodded politely and led Catherine through a doorway in the right wall.  
  
"Looks like she's forgotten you're here," Ryanne smiled to Grissom, breaking him out of the daze he had been in watching Catherine work and then walk away.  
  
"Sorry?" He asked, quickly, turning to see the petite blond woman grinning at him.  
  
"Your boss, she didn't give you any orders," she explained, inwardly laughing at this man's obvious infatuation with his colleague.  
  
"Oh, she's not the boss. I am. Well, we . work as equals. We . "  
  
"Are a team?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Communication is unspoken. You just know what the other is thinking. It's nice to have that, with someone," she smiled again, a wistful glaze settling on her eyes.  
  
Grissom frowned slightly, wondering why he felt the urge to tell this stranger exactly how he felt about Catherine, when he hadn't even plucked up the courage to tell Catherine yet. There was just something about her. He seemed to be falling into some sort of trance.  
  
He shook his head to snap himself out of it, and excused himself to check the extensive grounds of the Italian style villa, leaving Ryanne to hypnotise the nearest police officer.  
  
TBC. 


	2. Chapter Two

Disclaimer - see chapter one  
  
Chapter Two  
  
A piece of music Grissom didn't recognise blasted through the lab and vibrated every bone in the supervisor's body as he and Catherine headed for the DNA lab, in silence, because words would have been drowned out, despite the close proximity they walked in. It had been Catherine who had closed the distance between them, and Grissom noticed immediately. Occasionally her hand brushed against his, sending shock waves through him, and he had to clench his teeth to calm himself down. This was obviously payback for earlier. A very good sign.  
  
Or maybe she intended to use him to shield herself from the debris as the walls of the building shook the ceiling loose in time to the beat.  
  
*****  
  
Catherine moved straight to the CD player and faded the music down so that the drastic change in volume would not cause their ears to go funny, whilst Grissom glared at Greg.  
  
"I only turned it up 'cause I knew you were on your way," Greg smiled cheekily.  
  
Catherine allowed herself a small smile, but hid it from Grissom who looked far from amused.  
  
"What have you got?" Grissom asked Greg sternly.  
  
Greg stole a quick grin at Catherine, then explained his findings. Or lack thereof.  
  
"No DNA on the envelope at all. Didn't lick it to seal it."  
  
Grissom nodded and turned to leave.  
  
"Thanks," Catherine smiled to Greg, ruffling her hand through his hair, then following Grissom out of the lab.  
  
Greg fixed his hair and rolled his chair towards his CD player, reaching for the volume.  
  
"Don't even think about it!" Grissom shouted without even turning around.  
  
Greg smiled contentedly and settled in front of his microscope.  
  
*****  
  
"I've figured it out." Catherine stated out of the blue as they drove back to the house later that night - or technically, early the following morning.  
  
"You have? Based on what Greg told us?" Grissom said, shocked to say the least, because he was lost. And that didn't happen often.  
  
"No! Not that! I've figured out why you're on this case. You should have known I would. I'm a level three crime scene investigator, you know? Trained to solve puzzles," she grinned mischievously.  
  
"I told you why I'm on this case. It's not like you had any missing pieces to find."  
  
"Mobley didn't assign you. He wouldn't. He likes to keep you as far away from the press and the limelight as possible. You wanted to be on this case. Because you're a fan aren't you? You're a Marc Weston fan!. You could have just said, Gil, it's nothing to be ashamed of. I am definitely a Marc Weston fan. He is . hot!"  
  
Catherine was thrown forward and then lurched back solidly into her seat, as the car screeched to a halt and Grissom looked at her incredulously.  
  
"What the hell?!" she exclaimed, rubbing her shoulder where the seat belt had pressed against it.  
  
"I needed to look at you, incredulously, and I couldn't do that whilst driving. I probably would have crashed," Grissom explained, his facial expression still strong.  
  
It was Catherine's turn to look disbelieving. "Oh, that's alright then!" she growled sarcastically. "I've got a black mark on my jacket now. That'll not come out. You can buy me a new one. In fact! You can come shopping with me for the new one! That should be suitable torture!"  
  
Grissom didn't flinch, and Catherine was beginning to be freaked out by his fixed expression and unblinking eyes.  
  
"Gil! Will you stop looking at me incredulously?!! What did I say?"  
  
"You said Marc Weston is hot!" he exclaimed, as if it ranked right up there with swearing in front of your grandparents.  
  
"Well he is!"  
  
"And he is the victim in our case. You can't think of him like that!"  
  
Catherine let out a laugh. "I think you're over-reacting a little. Are you jealous? If it's any consolation, I think you're hot too." She gave him her best flirtatious grin, and giggled to herself as the tops of his ears turned a deeper shade of pink.  
  
"That's irrelevant. You cannot be personally involved in this case. Do I have to reassign you?"  
  
She laughed again, in total disbelief. "Gil, I've been doing this job long enough to know that I shouldn't get involved with people in my cases."  
  
"Catherine, we may know that, but sometimes it's difficult."  
  
"Speaking from experience?" she snapped, more angrily than she had expected to. She had intended to maintain the light tone that she had previously been using, but the now all too familiar tension that formed inside her at the mere thought of the 'incident' that had been the source of her question, had taken over.  
  
From his expression, it was evident that Grissom had noticed the change in tone. Immediately she knew she didn't want to have that conversation. She was curious as to what had, or had not, happened with Lady Heather, but she wasn't sure if she wanted to know.  
  
"Cath, I - " he began, nervously.  
  
"Grissom, rest assured nothing will happen between Marc and me."  
  
Grissom raised an eyebrow and smirked slightly. "Marc?"  
  
Catherine rolled her eyes. "He asked me to call him that. Honestly, nothing will happen," she smiled, comfortingly. "Just because I think he's hot, doesn't mean I'm gonna pounce on him. Have I ever pounced on you?"  
  
Grissom gave his famous half-smile. "Well, there was that one - "  
  
"Gil Grissom!" she exclaimed. "When you forget that something ever happened, you forget that it ever happened!! Now start this car, we have to go tell the very hot Marc Weston that we have no leads."  
  
Catherine settled herself back into her seat, adjusting her jacket to cushion her sore shoulder. Seconds passed and she realised they were still stationary. Glancing at Grissom she noticed he was staring at her.  
  
"Grissom?. Grissom?. You'd better not be thinking about what I think you're thinking about!"  
  
He smiled devilishly. "No, I'm not allowed to think about that. I was thinking about . Lady Heather."  
  
"Oh," Catherine said quietly, trying hard not to sound her disappointment.  
  
"Cath, I feel I should - "  
  
"Gil, you don't have - " she interrupted quickly, only to be cut off herself.  
  
"I want to. I want you to know that - "  
  
"Gil, honestly, whatever happened, it doesn't - "  
  
"Catherine, do you think I could finish my sentence?"  
  
"Do you think I could?"  
  
"I spoke first."  
  
"No you didn't!"  
  
"Yes I did!"  
  
"No! I spoke first. I said, and I quote, 'I've got it!'"  
  
"We're not talking about first first. I was first to be cut off."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Yeah. I was trying to tell you that - "  
  
"Ah! Very cunning. Did you think you could just slip it into your sentence and I wouldn't have chance to cut you off?  
  
"Why do you keep cutting me off?"  
  
Catherine sighed exasperatedly. "Because you don't have to tell me! Whatever happened with Lady Heather - "  
  
"Nothing happened with Lady Heather," Grissom said quickly, smiling a little at the glare that Catherine gave him for managing to get that in.  
  
"Even if it had, it's none of my business. You didn't have to tell me."  
  
"I wanted to."  
  
Catherine nodded her understanding. "As long as you know that you didn't have to. Now will you start the car, I've got a date with a movie star!"  
  
Grissom gave her an incredulous look again.  
  
She shrugged. "Just wanted to say it. See what it felt like."  
  
They both laughed then Grissom turned to face forward and resumed their route.  
  
Catherine watched him for a few seconds - not analysing the fact that he had wanted to tell her that nothing had happened with Lady Heather - then she settled herself looking out of the side window, and as she watched the Las Vegas world pass by, she allowed a smile to creep onto her face.  
  
TBC. 


	3. Chapter Three

Disclaimer - see chapter one  
  
A/N - I'm not sure about Lindsey's age, so please bear with me on that  
  
Chapter Three  
  
They sat in the living room of the Weston villa with Brass whilst he explained to Marc and Ryanne about the police officers who would be watching the house.  
  
"I know this may sound like we're putting you in danger, but we need him to make another move so that we can have more chance of finding him. If there are police crawling all over the house, he might be scared away."  
  
"But what if he tries something more extreme? He's sent death threats, detective, he might try to follow through on them," Ryanne interjected, her tone a mixture of anger and fear.  
  
"No-one will be able to get near the house without being seen. All people in the house will be carrying panic alarms that will alert the officers outside - "  
  
"What do we need those for if no-one will be able to get near the house?" Ryanne interrupted.  
  
"Ryanne," Marc said, putting his arm round her to calm her down, "They're doing everything they can. The alarms are a precaution, even the best laid plans can sometimes meet obstacles. They're just an extra security measure. It's better than having police all over the place. We do need him to strike again."  
  
"I know," she nodded.  
  
"Ms Moores," Catherine said, softly, leaning forwards in her seat to talk more closely to her, "Given the frequency of the notes, Marc should receive another one in the next few days. The officers will watch the house and apprehend him if he comes to deliver it personally as he did the last one. If not, we will be ready to run tests on it as soon as it arrives and hopefully we'll be able to get something off it. People normally leave something of themselves behind, no matter how careful they are. The sooner we run the tests, and the less people who handle it, the better. On that note," she sat back and removed some gloves from her bag. "If you could wear these when opening your mail, it will reduce the risk of there being lots of fingerprints." She handed the gloves to Marc who nodded and smiled.  
  
Grissom picked up Catherine's explanation of what was happening. "We are continuing to analyse the letters we have, and you will be informed as soon as we know anything. For now, we should just be grateful the press don't seem to have picked up on it, and hope that he doesn't realise the police are involved. It'll make our job a lot easier if he decides to deliver it in person again."  
  
"And what if he doesn't? What if there are no clues on any of the letters?" The panic in Ryanne's voice was increasing with each word.  
  
"There is always a clue somewhere, Ms Moores, you just have to find it," Grissom responded.  
  
*****  
  
"I'm sorry about Ryanne's little outbursts," Marc said as he was showing them to the door, "she's just very shaken by all of this. We thought it would all end when we moved from LA."  
  
Catherine smiled understandingly. "You don't need to apologise. It's understandable that she should be worried. She's your best friend. Worrying's part of the job."  
  
Marc laughed slightly and opened the door. "Well, thanks for everything you've done so far. And for being so discreet, I really didn't want the press sniffing around. I think that's what made it so hard for the police in LA to find anything. They'd found footprints all over the place, but most of them belonged to reporters, it wasted loads of police time sorting through pairs of shoes. Sometimes they just don't know when to leave well alone."  
  
"They're doing their job. It's unfortunate that nine times out of ten it makes ours harder," Grissom commented with a shrug, then walked outside.  
  
"He likes to end things on a . thoughtful note," Catherine smiled to Marc. "I'm sorry we couldn't do anything more."  
  
"It's okay. We understand."  
  
"Okay. Well, I'll see you later."  
  
Both laughed and then Catherine followed Grissom outside and Marc closed the door.  
  
"You'll see him later?" Grissom asked, intrigued by Catherine's comment, which had not just seemed like a parting statement meaning 'until next time'.  
  
"I have a date with him -"  
  
"What? After everything -"  
  
"If you'd let me finish!! With him and twelve giggling eleven year olds tomorrow night."  
  
Grissom relaxed as he understood. "Ah, yes. Lindsey's birthday."  
  
"Yeah. We're watching his latest film. I was telling him last night. Lindsey would be so jealous if she knew I'd met him. They're all obsessed with him. When they heard he was moving to Vegas they were all chattering about how they might bump into him when they were out shopping. I feel sorry for him if they did. They'd mob the poor man. I don't know how I'm gonna cope at the cinema. Me and twelve pre-teen teenagers drooling over him."  
  
"I could go with you," Grissom offered as they climbed into the tahoe.  
  
Catherine hesitated for a second before responding, unsure as to whether she had heard him correctly. It sounded like he had offered to go with her, but that couldn't be right.  
  
"Did you say something as we were getting in the car?" she asked as she fastened her seat belt.  
  
"I said, I could go with you."  
  
"Where?" she asked, knowing she sounded stupid, but her mind was filled with too many thoughts of what was behind his offer to form a sensible response.  
  
"To the movies, with the twelve pre-teen teenagers. how can you have already forgotten what we were talking about?"  
  
"I haven't forgotten. I knew that's what I'd been talking about, I just wasn't sure that's what you were talking about. Are you sure?"  
  
"I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't."  
  
Catherine's eyes opened wider with amazement, she had expected him to have backed out of it by now.  
  
"Aren't you working?"  
  
"No."  
  
"That's it?. No?"  
  
Grissom frowned, but was amused by how flustered Catherine seemed to be. Another good sign. "No, is the answer to your question."  
  
"Well, why aren't you working? I'm not working. You have remembered that I've got the night off haven't you?"  
  
"Of course I've remembered. It's Lindsey's birthday."  
  
"So, who's running the shift? You and I are never off at the same time!"  
  
"Not never Cath, there have been a couple of times when we were both off. Warrick will take the shift."  
  
The calm in Grissom's speaking was only agitating Catherine's confusion more. "But.. What. Why aren't you working?"  
  
Grissom shrugged. "I decided to have the night off."  
  
"You decided? Gil 'I am my job' Grissom decides for the first time in sixteen years to take a specific night off, and it has to be the same night I want."  
  
Grissom couldn't help smiling. "Catherine, calm down! There is no law that says we can't have the same night off! Why is this bothering you so much?"  
  
"It isn't bothering me. I'm just surprised."  
  
"Oh. It seemed like it was bothering you."  
  
"It's not bothering me!"  
  
"Okay, as long you're okay, and it's not bothering you - "  
  
"It's not!"  
  
"Okay, then we'll change the subject. So do you want me to come with you?"  
  
Catherine hesitated again. Her answer to that question could have so many meanings. If she said yes, would he take it to mean 'yes, I want you to come with me because I want you' or 'yes, I want you to come with me to keep me sane amongst all those giddy kids'? And what did he want her answer to be. If he took it to mean the former, would he be panicked, like that 'forgotten' time that she had pounced on him, or did he want her to want him to go just to be with her? And if he took it to mean she wanted him there for sanity, would he be offended that he didn't mean anything more to her, or had he offered to go simply to keep her sane because she had made her comment about not knowing how she would cope? That train of thought led to another she had not yet considered. Had he only offered because he thought that comment was fishing for an offer? Did he actually want to go? Should she say no so as not to seem cheeky, or would he be offended that she didn't want him there? Her head was starting to hurt again. Logically she knew she was probably reading far too much into this, but she couldn't seem to get the logical part of her brain to take control.  
  
"Catherine?" Grissom asked, for the fourth time, concerned at her silence.  
  
"Hmm? Oh, sorry. My mind wandered back to the case for a second," she lied, pretty badly from the look on Grissom's face. He obviously didn't believe her, she just prayed he wouldn't pry any further. "Erm, if you really want to come with me - us - then sure, but only if you're sure."  
  
"I am. So, what time?"  
  
"Well, the film's at six thirty. The other girls are meeting us at the theatre at about six fifteen so we have time to get drinks and popcorn, you know. Then we're going for a pizza afterwards. You're welcome to join us for that too, if you don't have to be rushing home or out or anything."  
  
"That sounds great. I will, thank you."  
  
Catherine frowned at the profile of her boss who had kept his eyes fixed on the road throughout that exchange, and seemed to actually be serious.  
  
"So you don't have any other plans?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"So, why'd you book the night off?"  
  
"In case you needed me."  
  
"What?"  
  
"It's Lindsey's first birthday without Eddie, I wanted to be available in case you needed me. For anything."  
  
He spoke normally, as if what he was saying was perfectly normal and not at all as moving as Catherine found it. Her heart swelled with love for this man, whose words brought a lump to her throat, and tears to her eyes. She couldn't respond. She sat in silence, muted by the feelings he had stirred within her.  
  
And he didn't probe for a response. He could tell she appreciated his gesture, and knew she would speak if anything needed to be said.  
  
*****  
  
He brought the tahoe to a stop outside the crime lab, and had his hand on the door handle ready to leave when Catherine spoke.  
  
"Gil?" Her voice was soft, and quiet, wrought with the emotions still overwhelming her.  
  
He turned to face her and smiled.  
  
"Thank you," she continued, kicking herself for not having the courage to say more, for not being brave enough to reveal what her heart was screaming.  
  
Grissom smiled that smile again and said, "I'm your friend. It's part of the job."  
  
TBC. 


	4. Chapter Four

Disclaimer - see chapter one  
  
Chapter Four  
  
"Lindsey, we need to leave in five minutes, okay?" Catherine called to her daughter as she checked her appearance in the hallway mirror.  
  
"I'm right here, Mom, there's no need to shout," Lindsey giggled from where she had been watching her mother for the last few minutes.  
  
Startled by the proximity of Lindsey's response Catherine shot round to face her. "I didn't see you there!"  
  
"Evidently," Lindsey smiled, knowingly.  
  
"What?" Catherine asked innocently, her flushing cheeks betraying her guilt.  
  
Lindsey tried to stop her smile from increasing and shook her head. "Nothing."  
  
"Then why are you looking at me like that?"  
  
"Like what?" Lindsey shrugged. "I was just thinking you look very nice," she grinned.  
  
"Well, thank you," Catherine stuttered, with a smile. "I'll just get my bag, then we can go."  
  
"It wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that Grissom's coming with us, would it?" Lindsey called after her as she walked into the lounge.  
  
There was silence as Catherine's footsteps ceased and she offered no response. Lindsey laughed to herself and sat down to await her lovesick mother's return.  
  
*****  
  
Grissom's initial offer to come with her this evening had been spur of the moment, and since he had made it, the fear had begun to set in. The words "twelve pre-teen teenagers" resounded in his mind, taking on greater terror as each time he failed to imagine what that particular group of people could be like. He was not used to being around children. Lindsey, he could handle. He had known her since she was a baby. She was used to him, he was used to her. The other eleven, he was worried about.  
  
Driving to the theatre, butterflies the size of Nevada batted round his stomach, he repeated to himself "You'll survive" as a mantra, and occasionally managed to calm down when his panicked mind allowed itself to remember that Catherine would be there.  
  
As he pulled the car into a parking space, he smiled as he noticed Catherine standing outside the theatre surrounded by a gaggle of giggling eleven year olds. As usual she was the picture of grace, smiling and laughing with them, un-phased by the chaos they created. He repeated his mantra once more. He could survive anything with Catherine by his side.  
  
*****  
  
"Okay, who wants popcorn?" Catherine asked when all the guests had arrived.  
  
A resounding cry of 'me' was the response, and the group made their way into the theatre. Catherine allowed all the children to pass her then joined Grissom and followed them inside.  
  
"You okay?" she smiled to him.  
  
"I'm fine," he smiled back.  
  
"Are you sure? I know children aren't really your thing," she grinned.  
  
"I'm fine," he insisted. "You look nice this evening," he added shyly.  
  
Catherine smiled. "Are you saying I don't normally look nice?"  
  
"Yeah," Grissom smirked.  
  
Catherine swatted his arm playfully. "I didn't want Lindsey's friends thinking I was a scruffbag, did I?"  
  
Grissom raised an eyebrow. "A scruffbag?"  
  
"Yes, Gil. Scruffbag - the way I normally look."  
  
"Ah!" Grissom nodded. "Do you want to share some popcorn?" he asked, ignoring the look that Catherine was giving him for fear that it might kill him.  
  
"Sure," she replied still glaring at him.  
  
*****  
  
Arms full with popcorn and drinks they made their way into the auditorium.  
  
"Right, where do you want to sit?" Catherine asked as the girls looked round analysing where would be the best place.  
  
"Here!" Lindsey declared moving into the row one from the back.  
  
"There are only thirteen seats there. Where's Gil gonna sit?" Catherine asked Lindsey whilst smiling to Grissom.  
  
"He can sit behind us," Cheryl, the boldest of Lindsey's friends, stated.  
  
"Well that's not very fair is it?" Catherine said.  
  
"It's okay Cath, I'll sit behind you, and throw popcorn at you," Grissom grinned mischievously.  
  
"Oh no you won't! That popcorn's half mine mister!" Catherine protested.  
  
"I said I would throw some to you," Grissom said, still smiling.  
  
"You said you'd throw it at me! I'm sitting with you!" Catherine exclaimed.  
  
"That's a great idea," Lindsey grinned excitedly. "You and Grissom can sit behind us."  
  
The look on Lindsey's face as she winked to her mother and settled herself into her seat told Catherine that she'd been had. She shook her head in disbelief, her daughter was growing up so fast and she was getting sneakier by the minute.  
  
*****  
  
"Put the gun down, Davey! You don't want to do anything stupid!"  
  
"I don't think shooting him would be stupid, Clark! He deserves it!"  
  
"Why? 'Cause she loves him more than you? You can't blame him for that."  
  
"Are you saying I should shoot her?"  
  
Grissom looked around the auditorium. His party were whispering and giggling, so he knew they were okay, but the other members of the audience, although it was difficult to tell from the backs of their heads, he assumed were probably asleep. He himself had been close when Catherine had brushed past him to go to the bathroom. Ten minutes had passed since then and he had forced himself to stay awake so she wouldn't catch him snoozing when she returned. He was starting to be concerned, and figured he would go and check on her. He told Lindsey where he was going and left the auditorium.  
  
As he reached out to take the door handle to enter the foyer, the door swung towards him just avoiding knocking him to the floor.  
  
"I'm sorry - " the person on the other side of the door began.  
  
"Catherine! I was worried."  
  
A look of guilt swept Catherine's face. "Yeah, I'm sorry. I didn't realise I'd been out here so long. I didn't really need the bathroom, I just - "  
  
"Had to stop yourself falling asleep?" Grissom interrupted.  
  
"Yeah. That has to be the worst film I have ever seen. Has it started to get any better?"  
  
Grissom shook his head. "Clark just persuaded Davey to shoot Helena instead of Stu."  
  
Catherine frowned, bemused. "I hope Lindsey isn't too disappointed."  
  
"Oh, they seem fine. They're in a world of their own. I think they're just drooling over Marc," Grissom assured her.  
  
"I hope so. She was really looking forward to tonight."  
  
"She'll be fine, Cath. They'll have forgotten how bad it was by the time they get their pizza."  
  
"Considering you don't like them, you seem to be quite an authority on kids."  
  
"I don't dislike kids. I just don't have any," Grissom stated.  
  
"And you're scared of them," Catherine added.  
  
"Well, they're so smart. Smarter than many adults. And they ask awkward questions. I know they're just curious and don't mean to be awkward, but I still never know how to answer them."  
  
"The truth is normally the best way," Catherine smiled.  
  
"Ah! So when Lindsey asked if anything had ever happened between the two of us saying no wasn't the best way to answer that question?"  
  
"That's different."  
  
"How?"  
  
"Well, the truth would have been too complicated for her to understand. And technically 'no' wasn't a lie. Nothing really happened."  
  
Grissom shrugged, "That's true, I suppose."  
  
"Thanks to you," Catherine smiled.  
  
"Yeah. If you'd had your way the truth would have been too high a rating to tell Lindsey."  
  
"Considering you've forgotten that it ever happened you sure seem to remember it well!" Catherine exclaimed.  
  
"I haven't forgotten."  
  
"You were supposed to."  
  
"I didn't want to."  
  
"Grissom - " Catherine said, nervously.  
  
"It was the best night of my life. It's not everyday a beautiful woman throws herself at me."  
  
Catherine blushed and smiled, lowering her head.  
  
"Wow!" Grissom exclaimed.  
  
"What?" she asked, raising her head quickly.  
  
"I made Catherine Willows blush." Grissom shook his head, "And they said it wasn't possible."  
  
Catherine laughed, "I'll notify the press."  
  
They both laughed for a second before they were enveloped by a silence. Their eyes held the other's despite their many attempts to nervously look around. Their breathing patterns slipped into unison. Their bodies fought against the force that surrounded them and was pulling them together, in a desperate, but fruitless, attempt to allow logic to dictate their actions. Before they knew it they were only inches apart and the air between them had started to heat up. Breathing was becoming difficult, thinking was becoming difficult, desire seemed to be the only thing their bodies were capable of.  
  
They stood no more than a centimetre apart, their bodies close but not touching, and explored the opposite face for a sign of what should happen next. Their answers were identical. The gap between them closed and their lips moved towards each other.  
  
TBC.. 


	5. Chapter Five

Disclaimer - see chapter one  
  
Chapter Five  
  
"Gil," Catherine said, her mouth so close to his that her breath lightly tickled his lips as she spoke.  
  
"Yeah?" he asked, terrified that she was going to stop this.  
  
"Is this a good idea?"  
  
He smiled slightly, understanding where this was coming from. "I don't know."  
  
"Maybe we - "  
  
"But I'd like to find out," he interrupted. He knew that if he allowed her to say that they shouldn't, reality would take over and they would both agree that she was right. If she really didn't want it to happen, then it wouldn't, but he wanted to keep the fantasy alive for as long as possible.  
  
"What about work?" she asked after taking a shaky deep breath.  
  
"Work survived you pouncing on me, I'm sure it'd survive a kiss," he smiled.  
  
"What if it goes further than that?" She felt really nervous now. The electricity between them was so strong, she knew that if neither of them pulled back soon, then it would happen. They would kiss. And though she'd longed for it for as long as she remembered, all the variables were spinning round her mind. There was so much at stake.  
  
"It won't go further than that, Cath, we're in a public place," he grinned.  
  
She laughed. "You know what I mean. Once you've kissed me once you won't want to keep your lips off me."  
  
"Oh, we do think a lot of ourselves, don't we?" he chuckled.  
  
"Don't think, know," she grinned.  
  
"Really? You're that good?"  
  
"Oh yeah!" she laughed.  
  
"Prove it!" he stated, his lips now so close to hers that she was sure she could feel them.  
  
"Certainly," she whispered, as his lips sank down onto hers, as soft and tender as she had always imagined they would be. She melted into the kiss, moving closer to him, their bodies pressing together holding each other in an embrace they had waited nineteen years for.  
  
Suddenly the door to the auditorium burst open and customers began to file past them. They broke apart at the sound of the door opening, but still gained suspicious looks from several people who walked by - those who were awake enough to register that something had been going on. They straightened their clothing and hair, and hoped that they looked suitable to be seen unsuspiciously by Lindsey and her friends.  
  
"Mom, you missed the end! And half the movie!" Lindsey exclaimed as she spotted her mum and Grissom standing near the doorway to the foyer. "What have you been doing?"  
  
Grissom turned to Catherine and smirked, eager to see what the best way to respond to this question was.  
  
Catherine understood his look and responded to it with a quick glare, before turning to Lindsey.  
  
"I'm sorry honey, I just got a bit bored, and thought rather than embarrass you by falling asleep and snoring really loudly I'd go for a little walk. I'm sorry."  
  
"It's okay," Lindsey said emphatically, "I'm glad you left if that was the alternative!"  
  
The friends giggled and the adults laughed, more with relief than amusement.  
  
Grissom watched as Catherine walked with Lindsey into the foyer chatting about the film. When she turned to make sure everyone was following, her eyes briefly met his. She smiled, but he was sure there was sadness in her eyes, and the fact that she quickly looked away again, affirmed his fear that regret was what was causing it. He had known they were taking a great risk, but being prepared for the disappointment didn't make it less painful.  
  
He followed the group outside the theatre and across the road to the pizza place, smiling and laughing as the children talked animatedly about the movie and how hot Marc Weston had looked, whilst all the time desperately trying to ignore the voice in his head that was saying 'She was right. One kiss isn't enough.'  
  
*****  
  
"You do so fancy him!" Bethany practically screamed at Lindsey, as the group sat around their pizzas making more noise than Grissom had ever imagined twelve people could.  
  
"I do not!" Lindsey insisted for the third time, glaring at Bethany for continuing this subject of conversation in front of her mother, whose next line she had already predicted.  
  
"Really? Who's this then?" Catherine asked with a wide grin.  
  
"No-one, Mom," Lindsey tried to get across, but was drowned out by a chorus of:  
  
"Michael Stuart!" from her eleven former friends, now traitors.  
  
"I don't fancy him, Mom, he's so annoying!"  
  
"There's a fine line between love and hate, Linds," Catherine teased.  
  
"And I know which side of it I'm staying on," Lindsey stated categorically.  
  
"Oooh! So you're gonna love him forever?" Cheryl giggled.  
  
"I do not love him!" Lindsey continued to argue.  
  
"The lady doth protest too much, methinks," Grissom offered.  
  
Everyone fell silent and looked at him, shock seeming to be the main reaction.  
  
"What?" he asked, confused as to what he'd done to receive this response.  
  
"I thought you would have taken my side," Lindsey replied, shaking her head slowly.  
  
"Sorry. Guess I was caught up in the moment," he shrugged.  
  
Apparently this was enough to end the stillness, and giggling and chattering resumed, if possible, at a higher volume than before.  
  
Catherine watched him as he interacted with the girls. Since they'd left the cinema he had been very quiet and seemed to be avoiding eye contact with her. The reason for her silence after his Shakespearean quote was shock that he had said more than three words. She had known things would change if they kissed. She had known that change could be good or bad, but she hadn't expected that it would be bad. It had all felt so right. Standing that close to him, touching him, holding him, feeling his lips on hers, she had imagined it all for many years and it was infinitely better than all her dreams. She had never felt such a level of disappointment as she did when that auditorium door opened, nor had she ever found it so difficult to pull herself away from a man. How it could have felt so perfect to her, but wrong to him, she didn't know, but his behaviour indicated that he considered it a mistake. And as much as it tore her apart to have to do it, she knew she would just have to accept that.  
  
*****  
  
"Okay, get in the car! I'm just gonna talk to Grissom for a second," Catherine said to Lindsey and the remaining three friends whom Catherine was giving a lift home, and then walked over to Grissom.  
  
Awkward did not even begin to describe the atmosphere as the two of them stood in the car park, neither knowing what to say or do. After too many seconds of silence, Catherine decided she would have to speak first, because she knew Grissom could maintain a silence for hours if he wanted to.  
  
"Thank you for coming tonight. I know Lindsey was really pleased that you came, even though you didn't stick up for her," she smiled.  
  
"It's okay. She seemed to enjoy herself, that's good," he responded.  
  
"Yeah. We talked about Eddie this morning. I think she's accepted that even though she doesn't want to, she needs to move on."  
  
"She'll be okay, Cath. You two did a good job with her," he said, seriously.  
  
Catherine seemed surprised by this.  
  
"What?" he asked, once again confused as to what he had said.  
  
"Nothing. It's just, you're the last person I would expect to include Eddie in that."  
  
"It was his treatment of you that I didn't like. He was a good father."  
  
"I know. That's what worries me."  
  
"What?"  
  
"That it was the two of us who did a good job with her."  
  
"Hey, you're doing fine. You've had a lot to deal with, on top of Eddie's death, and you've survived, and Lindsey's fine, she's happy."  
  
"I know. I guess I'm just. having a moment," she smiled, genuinely. "I'm over it. Anyway, thanks for coming. Again. I really appreciate it too."  
  
He shrugged. "What are friends for?"  
  
Their eyes locked for the longest time since the kiss and both realised that maybe things hadn't changed that much. They could still talk, they still cared. They could get through this like they had got through everything else life had thrown at them. They just had to not think about the kiss. That this was easier said than done occurred to them simultaneously, and they both smiled sadly and lowered their eyes.  
  
"I'll see you tomorrow night," Catherine said, barely looking up.  
  
"Yeah," Grissom responded.  
  
They turned and headed for their cars. After four steps they both felt the urge to stop and look back. And they both resisted it so as not to make things any harder.  
  
TBC. 


	6. Chapter Six

Disclaimer - please see chapter one  
  
Chapter Six  
  
His hand was on her leg, gently trailing up towards her hip. Her skin burned at his touch, then goose pimples rippled across her flesh as his fingers moved round to her stomach. What a way to be woken up. Tenderly following her breastbone with his middle finger, his hand lightly brushed across her breast sending a shiver through her core. He allowed his hand to linger and press harder as he kissed the base of her neck. She smiled contentedly relishing the feeling of being so close to him, and let out a low purr as he snuggled closer to her, his lips moving towards her jaw line. She was just about to roll over and meet his lips with hers when her phone started to ring. She growled, frustrated, and reached over to her nightstand. Eyes still closed, she flipped the phone open and raised it to her ear.  
  
"Willows!" she ground out.  
  
"I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"  
  
Her eyes shot open.  
  
"Gil?. What. Erm - "  
  
"Are you okay?" Grissom asked from the other end of the phone, concerned by her incoherence.  
  
"Er. yeah. You did wake me. But it's all right. What did you need?"  
  
"The Weston case. There's been a break-in.. I can handle it if - "  
  
"I'll be straight over."  
  
She closed the phone and sank back onto the bed. Glancing at the empty pillow beside her, she sighed a disappointed sigh then got up and headed for the shower.  
  
*****  
  
The drive to the Weston 'villa' seemed much shorter tonight, and it was definitely too short for Catherine, who didn't have nearly enough time to shake the images of her dream from her mind.  
  
She stopped her Tahoe behind an unmarked police car and slid from the vehicle, still able to feel the tender touch of Grissom's hand against her skin. Cursing herself for being affected like this by a dream she snatched her kit from the back seat and slammed the car door.  
  
"What did that car ever do to you?"  
  
Catherine jumped round at Brass's voice.  
  
"Jeez, Jim! You really shouldn't sneak up on people!"  
  
"There was no sneaking, Cath. Something on your mind?" Brass chuckled.  
  
"No. Is Grissom here?" Catherine asked, beginning the walk towards the house.  
  
Brass nodded. "He's in the bushes."  
  
"In the bushes?"  
  
"Looking for a sign of disturbance. And hoping his little friends will tell him how the perp got in."  
  
"I take it your guys didn't see anything then?"  
  
He shook his head. "The letter was delivered attached to a brick, through the window that is most difficult to see from where our guys are stationed."  
  
"He knew they were watching."  
  
"Definitely seems that way," Brass confirmed.  
  
"Right. I'll start with the wind - "  
  
Rustling and shouting towards the back of the property stopped Catherine short.  
  
"Is that where Grissom is?" she asked Brass quickly as they both ran towards the commotion.  
  
Brass didn't respond, he just kept running. Catherine took that as a 'yes'.  
  
As they approached, the noise continued. Voices could be heard, but words could not be distinguished. Catherine was sure she heard Grissom though.  
  
Two more officers joined them at the edge of the plantation, and Catherine impatiently followed behind them all as they made their way towards the source of the disturbance.  
  
As they grew closer a clear:  
  
"Just hold still!"  
  
. was heard, followed by a loud, deep scream that inspired faster running from all four investigators.  
  
Catherine almost collided with the back of the third officer as the men suddenly stopped running. Moving swiftly to pass to the left of him instead, Catherine also stopped, her eyes captured by the same sight that had the three men entranced.  
  
A dishevelled young man, mid-to-late twenties, was sitting against a tree, Grissom leaning over him, both hands on the younger man's shoulder. A camera and bag lay on the ground to one side of them, and leaves and twigs littered both men's hair and clothes.  
  
Repressing a smirk, Catherine said:  
  
"Is everything okay here?"  
  
Grissom turned to his new audience, narrowing his eyes slightly at the expression on Catherine's face.  
  
"He fell out of a tree and dislocated his shoulder. I was just putting it back," Grissom explained.  
  
"What was he doing in the tree?" Catherine said, knowing the answer and looking at the younger man as she spoke.  
  
"He works for "Celebrity" magazine," Grissom replied, also looking at the injured man. "Was trying to get some pictures of Mr Weston's new woman."  
  
"Ah," Catherine nodded. "He get anything good?"  
  
Grissom shrugged. "A few weeks off work."  
  
*****  
  
Grissom, Catherine and Brass followed the paramedics out of the small wooded area as they carried away the reporter. His camera and other property were bagged and clearly labelled, and Catherine carried them with her.  
  
"Did he say how long he'd been up there?" Catherine asked.  
  
"About half an hour. He says he didn't see anyone else around the outside of the house, except Ryanne when she came out to look at the smashed window."  
  
"Where was Marc?"  
  
"In an upstairs room, talking to somebody. Our friend assumed it was this 'new woman' and was hanging around hoping to get a picture."  
  
"Should have hung around tighter," Catherine smiled.  
  
Grissom laughed a little. "You want to take the inside or the outside?"  
  
"You haven't started?"  
  
"I've photographed it all, I was waiting for you to help process it. So?"  
  
"I'll take outside. Less glass," Catherine said, leaving Grissom and Brass and heading for the area outside the broken window.  
  
"At least she's calmed down now," Brass commented, forgetting that Grissom wouldn't know what he was talking about.  
  
"When was she not calm?" Grissom frowned.  
  
"When she arrived. She nearly sent the tahoe to the other side of the street when she shut the door."  
  
"She was probably still waking up. She was asleep when I called her," Grissom suggested.  
  
"Perhaps she'd been having a nice dream," Brass mused as the two men headed towards the house.  
  
*****  
  
"So what have we got?" Grissom asked as they met up at the front door of the house after examining the internal and external scenes of the break-in.  
  
Catherine shook her head. "Nothing useful."  
  
"But something?"  
  
"Shoeprints," was all she said.  
  
"And why aren't they useful?" he prompted.  
  
"They're Ryanne's."  
  
Grissom smiled a little. "We gave them the gloves, but we never taught them how to secure a crime scene without contaminating it."  
  
Catherine laughed. "Yeah. I'll borrow her shoes. It looks like there may have been other prints but they've covered their tracks. Inside?"  
  
Grissom held up an evidence bag containing a brick. "I've got the brick - " He held up his other hand. "- and the letter. And I've printed the entire room. Got a few usable prints."  
  
Catherine nodded. "Then let's hope somewhere in that lot, there's a clue."  
  
"There's always - " Grissom began.  
  
"A clue, I know. But this one seems to be well hidden," Catherine smiled.  
  
"Well, hopefully it's hidden amongst the evidence we've got. You ready to go back to the lab?"  
  
"Yeah. I'll just go get my shoes, then I'll see you there."  
  
"Yep," Grissom agreed, then watched Catherine walk into the house. Her silky hair bounced around her head as she walked up the steps, a light breeze lifted it slightly then it floated back down to gently lap her shoulders. Even in the dim light it seemed to sparkle. It was mesmerising. When the door closed behind her he shook himself free. Glancing one last time at the door through which she'd disappeared, he sighed a disappointed sigh, turned, and headed for his tahoe.  
  
*****  
  
The lab was quiet when Catherine arrived, obviously Grissom had already been to see Greg. She meandered the maze of grey corridors, kit in one hand, various evidence bags, in the other. As she rounded a corner near the break room, she almost collided with Warrick and a cup of hot coffee.  
  
"Hey! Watch it!" she scolded, before realising who it was.  
  
"Watch it yourself," Warrick responded with a smirk.  
  
"Oh, hey," she said, finally looking up.  
  
"Hey! You okay?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just daydreaming, I guess," she smiled.  
  
"About anything nice?"  
  
Catherine shrugged. "I don't remember. You got a good case tonight?"  
  
"DB in the fountains at the Bellagio. Me and Sara."  
  
"How's it going?. I bet the media are all over that."  
  
"Actually, no. The PR department's worked its magic. It's going okay. Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, his question based on the fact that Catherine had held a distant expression throughout the conversation.  
  
"Huh?. Yeah, I'm fine," she smiled - unconvincingly.  
  
"People who are fine, don't start their response with 'huh'. What's going on?"  
  
"Nothing's going on," Catherine insisted, trying that smile again.  
  
"Did something happen last night?" Warrick asked, innocently.  
  
"No! Why? What have you heard?" she replied quickly.  
  
Warrick eyed her suspiciously. "I haven't heard anything. You seem distant, I just wondered if everything had gone okay with Lindsey's birthday party."  
  
"Oh. Yeah. It was great. Lindsey had a great time. She says thanks for the present, by the way."  
  
"No problem." Just as Warrick took a breath to continue his pager beeped. He smiled, apologetically at Catherine, then looked to it. "Sara. I've gotta go."  
  
"Sure. Good luck," she made a final attempt at a believable smile, and they went their separate ways. "Saved by the pager," she mumbled to herself when he was out of earshot.  
  
*****  
  
Later that night Grissom found Catherine in the layout room, with photos and a pair of stylish size five stiletto boots spread over the table.  
  
"You paged," he said as he entered the room.  
  
"Yeah. All discernible shoeprints are a match to Ryanne's boots. I got nothing. Have you managed to find our clue?" she said, sounding a little exasperated.  
  
"No."  
  
"No?" Catherine repeated as if she had expected him to say more.  
  
"No, is the answer to your question," he smiled.  
  
She too smiled, remembering their conversation the day before yesterday. It was a good sign, she supposed, that Grissom would make reference to things that had happened in the previous couple of days, before the kiss had sent everything crazy.  
  
"Well, there's always a clue, Grissom," she sighed, looking back to the photos in front of her. "So if you don't have it, and I don't have it - " she stopped and grabbed a magnifying glass.  
  
"What?" Grissom asked, moving closer to her, then stepping back slightly when he realised it was too hard to be that close.  
  
Suppressing the shiver caused by his proximity, Catherine studied the photograph carefully. "I may have it," she said, a twinkle of excitement gleaming in her eyes.  
  
"Are you gonna share it?" Grissom smirked. It was nice to see her smile, and to see her eyes sparkle again. That had been noticeably missing up until now, and he had worried that what happened last night had done more damage than he had originally thought.  
  
"Sorry," she said, sliding the picture across to him. "Look here." She pointed to the bottom left corner of one of the reporter's photographs. "Do you see it?"  
  
"I see a window," he shrugged.  
  
Shaking her head slowly, Catherine said: "Grissom, Grissom, Grissom. It's not a window, it's the window."  
  
"But it's not - "  
  
"Broken? . Exactly," she grinned. "Seems your new friend lied to you."  
  
"Hmm. Shall we go have a little chat with him?"  
  
TBC. 


	7. Chapter Seven

Disclaimer: please see chapter one  
  
Chapter Seven  
  
Even Catherine's dazzling smile didn't work on the doctor in charge of the "Celebrity" reporter's care, and they were not permitted to see him. He was resting. He needed that rest and he wasn't to be disturbed. They had considered sneaking in when the doctor's back was turned, or having him paged to a different floor, but thought against it. His patient was the only lead they had in a soon to be extremely high profile case, they couldn't do anything that might jeopardise the validity of any evidence he might hold.  
  
So now they wandered the corridors of the hospital on their way back to the car park. Neither of them was speaking. They were both too consumed with trying to figure out how to progress with the investigation. It was going nowhere very slowly, and they didn't like that.  
  
They reached the Tahoe, which Grissom unlocked, and they both climbed in. They drove back to the lab, maintaining the silence they had begun at the hospital. Grissom parked the car in his usual spot and they both hopped out, and walked into the building. They followed the corridors to his office and sat down in their usual seats.  
  
"Anything?" Grissom asked.  
  
Catherine shook her head. "Not a thing. You?"  
  
He shook his head.  
  
Catherine sighed. "What a waste of a journey. Just think, all that time we just spent thinking, we could have spent chatting," she finished with a small smile.  
  
"I don't chat, Cath," Grissom responded with his own small smile.  
  
"Pity. Looks like were gonna have a lot of time for it on this case!"  
  
"Do I detect a hint of dejection, Ms Willows?"  
  
"If you only detect a hint you're not as observant as you used to be."  
  
Grissom laughed a little then watched Catherine as she closed her eyes, and rolled her head from side to side as her hands massaged her shoulders. Even when she was tired she was beautiful, and that beauty trapped his gaze and he couldn't look away. She gave a short moan of exhaustion as she tried to move her hands further down the back of her shoulders, drawing Grissom's attention to her lips. Parted slightly, they looked so inviting and he remembered how it felt to be able to kiss them, to be allowed to feel them against his, to explore what was behind them. He followed them as her head rolled to the other side, and before he even realised he was going to speak he said:  
  
"Would you like me to do that for you?"  
  
Catherine's head darted upright and her eyes flicked open. "What?"  
  
It took him a second to find out what he had said, then he stuttered: "Would you . like me to . rub your shoulders for you? It's probably more likely to have the desired effect if you're not doing it yourself."  
  
"Oh," 'Yes! Yes! Yes!' It was difficult to think straight when her mind so obviously wanted to say yes, and Catherine paused for a moment as she prayed that logic could prevail, she wasn't sure she could trust herself to have his hands on her - it brought back a particular dreamland memory. "Erm. No, I'm fine. Thanks. We should be working."  
  
"We have nothing to do."  
  
"We could. interview. someone."  
  
"Like who?" Grissom asked, slightly amused by her behaviour, and happy to let that emotion show rather than the sadness he felt that she so obviously didn't want him to touch her.  
  
"Like. like . or . Oh! Yes please," she finally said, giving up in frustration.  
  
He was slightly taken aback by that last part. "What?"  
  
"Please would you rub my shoulders for me?" she asked softly.  
  
"I thought - "  
  
"Well, it's like you say, we don't have anything to do. And they are pretty tense. If you don - "  
  
"Of course I will," he smiled, standing to move to her side of the desk, inwardly hoping that he had enough self-control to do this without getting carried away.  
  
Nervously she straightened in her seat and leaned back. As he stood behind her she lifted her hair off her shoulders to allow his hands easier access. He took a quiet, deep breath and gently placed his hands to either side of her neck. She jumped slightly as he touched her causing him to pull his hands away and her to mentally slap herself.  
  
"I'm sorry -" he began.  
  
"No, your hands are just a little cold," she lied, hoping that as he couldn't see her face, he wouldn't be able to tell she was lying.  
  
"Oh, sorry," he said, rubbing his hands together a little to warm them up.  
  
While he did this she tried to compose herself. Three days ago this would have been fine. Grissom massaging her shoulders would have been nice, it would have been fun. She probably would have wound him up all the way through it, he would have threatened to stop several times, never once following through on his threat no matter what her next comment was. Everything would have been as it should be. Now one little kiss had changed it all. Okay, it wasn't a little kiss. One mind-blowingly wonderful kiss had changed it all. Now, just the thought of his hands massaging her skin provoked too many sexual images for her to handle. Even just being able to sense him standing behind her was arousing and frustrating her at the same time. She just wanted to scream.  
  
He softly brushed her hair to the side with one hand and then placed the other slowly against her shoulder.  
  
"Is that better?" he asked.  
  
Managing to suppress her desire to quiver at his touch, Catherine nodded, "Yeah."  
  
"Good," he said as he put his other hand on the other side and began to work at her muscles.  
  
She sat very still, concentrating all her efforts on remaining in the real world, and not letting her mind wander off.  
  
"God, you are tense," Grissom said a few seconds later. "Relax."  
  
"I am relaxed."  
  
"No you're not."  
  
"I am!"  
  
"No you're not!"  
  
"Fine!" She closed her eyes, let her head fall back slightly and let out a contented sounding sigh.  
  
"It's no good pretending to relax, I can feel it in your shoulders that you're not really relaxing," Grissom smirked.  
  
"Well, if you'd stop nagging me and get on with it, I might be able to relax!" she retorted.  
  
"Sorry!" Grissom responded, drawing out the 'ee' sound at the end of the word.  
  
Catherine laughed.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You sounded like Lindsey."  
  
"Hmm. Must have picked that up last night."  
  
An awkward silence descended upon the room at the mention of last night, those words acting like the bucket of cold water they had both needed. Grissom returned his concentration to massaging his tired friend's shoulders, and Catherine tried to appreciate her friend's gesture.  
  
"Hard at work, I see!" Brass chuckled from the doorway.  
  
Grissom jumped away from Catherine and they both shot round to face him.  
  
"Hey! There's no need to feel that guilty, I know as well as you do that we've got nothing for you to do. or at least, we had nothing," he smiled.  
  
"You've got something?" Grissom asked quickly.  
  
"Well," Brass began, taking a seat on the edge of Grissom's desk, "kind of. I need to," he paused to think of the right word, ". discuss something with you."  
  
"That sounds ominous," Catherine said.  
  
"Nah! It's nothing to worry about," Brass replied.  
  
"So why the delaying tactics?" Grissom asked.  
  
"You probably aren't gonna like it," he answered, his 'you' directed at Grissom.  
  
"But I will?" Catherine queried.  
  
"You'll probably love it."  
  
"Do you think you could tell us, Jim, the suspense is killing us here?" Grissom commented dryly, looking as unenthusiastic as he sounded.  
  
"The latest letter makes a threat on Marc Weston's life."  
  
"As death threats normally do," Catherine offered.  
  
"This is more specific than the others. Where it says 'the final moment will be your last' we believe this is not just ramblings of a mad man, we think it means he's gonna strike at the premiere of "The Final Moment", the latest Bruckheimer blockbuster. A premiere Mr Weston is due to attend in three days time."  
  
"Just how sadistic do you think I am?" Catherine asked, incredulously.  
  
Brass frowned at her. "What?"  
  
"Why would I love that?"  
  
"Oh. That's not the part you'll love. The film was part filmed in Vegas, so the premiere is being held here - "  
  
"Oh yeah," Catherine interrupted, "I saw something about that last night when we were at the theatre. Didn't pay much attention. Grissom, did you see - "  
  
"You two were at the theatre? Together?" Brass smirked with raised eyebrows.  
  
"It was Lindsey's birthday. When do we get to the part that she'll love and I won't?"  
  
"Well, if you two would stop interrupting me and confusing me with talk of you going on dates - "  
  
"It wasn't a date," they said in unison.  
  
"Still with the interrupting!. Marc says he's not gonna let this stop him from going, so of course security will be stepped up and he'll have extra bodyguards et cetera, et cetera - "  
  
"Jim! I'm sure you have a point!" Grissom said angrily.  
  
"This is the morning's newspaper," he said dropping a tabloid paper onto the desk.  
  
Grissom and Catherine both looked at it. The headline across the top read "Body Found in Bellagio Fountain".  
  
"Oooh! Looks like the PR department didn't do as well as Warrick thought," Catherine commented.  
  
"You want the other story."  
  
They looked further down the page where a slightly smaller headline read 'When in Vegas.'. They continued to read the story which was about Marc Weston's 'new woman'. After a few seconds of silent reading, they both looked up and exclaimed:  
  
"What?!"  
  
"My initial reaction."  
  
"Can I sue?" Catherine asked.  
  
"Well, they haven't really said anything bad about you. You did used to be an exotic dancer, and you are a CSI."  
  
"But I'm not dating Marc Weston!"  
  
"But is being romantically linked to a movie star really defamation of character?"  
  
Catherine shrugged. "I suppose not."  
  
"I still feel like you haven't got to the point," Grissom spoke for the first time, having spent the rest of the time thinking about what the story said was going on between Catherine and Marc and fighting with the jealousy that stirred within him.  
  
"Despite his anger that you are involved with the victim in one of your cases, the Sheriff . "  
  
Grissom rolled his eyes at the mere mention of that man.  
  
". thinks we can use it to our advantage. And Marc Weston has agreed to his plan. After he explained to the Sheriff that there isn't anything going on with you."  
  
"It shouldn't have needed explaining. He should know better than to believe what he reads in the paper."  
  
"She isn't doing it."  
  
Brass turned to Grissom. "I knew you were gonna say that."  
  
"I'll decide if I'm doing it."  
  
"And I knew you were going to say that."  
  
"I take it I'm to go to the premiere as Marc Weston's date?"  
  
"That's right. That way we have someone with him at all times, and you'll be expected to be there. The rest of us can blend into the background."  
  
Catherine smiled. "Hmm. Paid to go out with a movie star. Does that make me a prostitute?" she laughed.  
  
Brass joined her laughter. "The date doesn't have to go that far. I'll be in touch with the details. In the meantime be aware that there may be reporters around, and you need to keep up the charade."  
  
Catherine nodded and said goodbye to Brass as he left. Then she sat down in front of the desk and looked at Grissom who was wearing his 'I'm not happy about this' face.  
  
"We're not using me as bait for a serial killer, I'll be fine. I'm just going to the movies. Nothing's gonna happen that wouldn't normally happen. Except for there being more actors and film producers there, it'll be just like last night."  
  
"That's what I'm worried about."  
  
TBC. 


	8. Chapter Eight

Disclaimer: see chapter one  
  
Chapter Eight  
  
"What?" Catherine asked, having been unable to hear his last statement.  
  
"Nothing," he said, shaking his head. "I'm just worried about this. I mean, how do we know we're not dealing with a serial killer?"  
  
Catherine frowned. "Well, there's been nothing to indicate that we are."  
  
"Similarly there's been nothing to indicate that we're not."  
  
"Except for the lack of evidence to suggest that we are. And that's how we work, Gil. We follow the evidence, remember?. It'll be fine."  
  
"You're still putting yourself at risk, I ju - "  
  
"And I'm still going to do it, no matter what you say."  
  
"I know."  
  
Catherine smiled. "Well, you should by now."  
  
For a second they shared a smile, then suddenly Catherine gasped as a realisation hit her.  
  
"What?" Grissom asked, concerned.  
  
"What am I gonna wear?"  
  
Grissom laughed. "I'm sure you've got lots of clothes, you'll find something."  
  
"I can't wear any of them! I think I need something new. Yeah, I deserve something new," she nodded to herself. "So, what you doing this afternoon?"  
  
"Sleeping," Grissom stated, knowing where she was going with this.  
  
"Not anymore. You owe me a shopping trip," she grinned.  
  
"Can't I just pay for the jacket?"  
  
"Not sufficient punishment," she said, shaking her head.  
  
"Oh come on. It was an accident!"  
  
"I don't think so. You purposely hit that brake."  
  
"With good reason!" he said, lifting up the newspaper, as if that backed up his argument.  
  
"That's nonsense!"  
  
"You said he was 'hot' and now this says there's something going on!"  
  
"Saying he's hot is hardly proof that we're having a love affair. I also said you were hot."  
  
"And if anyone ever claimed you and I were having a 'love affair', they'd probably offer that as evidence!"  
  
"And it would be as ridiculous then as it is now!" These were words borne of hurt, not rage. But Grissom didn't see that. She had said out loud what he knew she had been thinking. It was all he needed to know.  
  
"Do you really think there is something going on between me and Marc?" she asked, more calmly, not wanting to get into an argument with him.  
  
"I don't know. These stories normally start somewhere."  
  
Catherine eyes widened as surprise fuelled her anger. "What?"  
  
"Rumours normally start somewhere!" he said, emphasising each word.  
  
"Repeat that!"  
  
Grissom stayed silent.  
  
"Repeat it, Gil! Just so I know that you definitely said it!"  
  
He did see the hurt behind this and shook his head.  
  
"Thank you," she said, softly. "You don't need to come shopping. I was just winding you up," she gave a small smile. "I'll see you later."  
  
Grissom nodded.  
  
She had taken three steps towards the door when he said:  
  
"Cath!"  
  
She turned round.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
She smiled, sadly. "So am I."  
  
*****  
  
As she approached reception on her way out of the building, Catherine heard a lot of voices and shouting. Rounding the corner, through the door she could see reporters filling the space. She rolled her eyes and walked through the door. As soon as they realised who it was they flocked around her. She kept walking. Throwing questions at her about her relationship with Marc Weston, they followed her to her car, where she finally turned to them.  
  
"Follow me, and I'll have you arrested," she stated as she climbed into her car.  
  
The reporters looked to each other trying to figure out if she could do that. Noting that she was a Crime Scene Investigator and probably knew the law better than they did, they decided keeping their distance was probably a good idea.  
  
*****  
  
"Mom!" Lindsey shouted as she came through the front door.  
  
This startled Catherine where she had fallen asleep on the sofa, and she jumped up and ran towards the front door.  
  
"Baby, what's wrong?"  
  
"You're dating Marc Weston?"  
  
Catherine rubbed her eyes with one hand, as she remembered that she had intended to tell Lindsey before she went to school, but she had been preoccupied reliving her argument with Grissom, and completely forgot.  
  
"You could have told me!" Lindsey sounded surprised, but not angry.  
  
"Honey, I was going to talk to you this morning."  
  
"So it's true?"  
  
"No!. I have to pretend to be dating Marc Weston, for work. Like undercover work."  
  
"Well, it's not very secret. It's in all the papers!"  
  
"I know. Honey, I'm sorry. My head was miles away this morning, I meant to tell you. Did you get any hassle at school?"  
  
"No. All the kids thought it was cool. They didn't really give me chance to speak to tell them it wasn't true. So looks like your 'secret' is safe," she giggled.  
  
Catherine smiled. "And what do you think?"  
  
Lindsey grinned. "I think it would be well cool!"  
  
Catherine laughed.  
  
"But. Did you have an argument with Grissom about it?"  
  
The shock silenced Catherine's laughter. "What makes you say that?"  
  
"Well, your 'head was miles away this morning', and Grissom's outside."  
  
"What?!"  
  
"He didn't say that you'd had an argument, but his head seems to be miles away too, so I could tell."  
  
Catherine smiled at her daughter's wisdom.  
  
"Why didn't he knock?"  
  
"He could see that you were asleep. He's just been sitting there. I said I'd wake you," Lindsey smiled. "He told me not to, but I didn't think he should sit out there all afternoon. The neighbours would talk."  
  
When her mother just laughed, Lindsey continued. "Let him in!. Talk to him!"  
  
"When did you grow up?" Catherine asked, hugging Lindsey to her as she spoke.  
  
"I just had a birthday, remember?. Now let me go, and open that door," she giggled, then she turned and ran upstairs.  
  
Catherine laughed to herself once more, then opened the front door, and there was Grissom, sitting on the step.  
  
"Gil?"  
  
He stood and turned round.  
  
"What are you doing here?"  
  
"I thought we were going shopping."  
  
TBC. 


	9. Chapter Nine

Disclaimer: see chapter one  
  
Chapter Nine  
  
"Come on! We've only got a few hours before we have to start work!" Catherine grumbled as she modelled the third out of nine outfits for the third time.  
  
"I think I liked the seventh one," Lindsey stated with a thoughtful nod.  
  
"Which was that?" Grissom asked, turning to the young girl sitting beside him.  
  
"The pink one."  
  
"The one with the huge white flower across the back?"  
  
"No! The other pink one. The deep pink. If she wore the one with the flower she'd be absolutely useless if anyone did try to attack Marc Weston at the premiere," Lindsey said quietly, shaking her head.  
  
"Wasn't the deep pink one the sixth one?" Grissom frowned.  
  
"No! The grey one was the sixth one."  
  
"Oh! I didn't like the grey one."  
  
"No! Ew! That was horrible!" Lindsey agreed. "Marc would dump her on the spot if she wore that one!"  
  
"Do you think you two could agree on which one you do like? Then we could buy it and get out of here," Catherine sighed.  
  
"Catherine, a movie premiere is a big event, you can't just wear any old outfit," Grissom smirked. "You have to look nice remember."  
  
Catherine narrowed her eyes with annoyance as she remembered the source of this comment. Brass had phoned her to let her know the details of the undercover work, and as well as times and places, he was instructed by the Sheriff to also tell her to go and buy a new dress - and to "make sure it was a nice one". The implication that anything she would choose might not be nice did not sit well with her. In fact part of her wanted to buy the grey dress, just to annoy the Sheriff.  
  
"What about the fifth one?" Grissom asked.  
  
"I didn't like that one," Catherine replied.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"It wasn't. comfortable. And it made me look like a prostitute."  
  
"No that was the third one!"  
  
"This is the third one!" she cried, indicating the dress she was wearing.  
  
"Oh. I quite like that one. Lindsey?"  
  
"The pink one," Lindsey stated folding her arms to show she wasn't going to change her mind.  
  
"Okay. Let's see the pink one again. Not the one with the flower!"  
  
"This is the last one!" Catherine growled walking back into the booth.  
  
"Spoilsport!" Grissom called after her, sharing a laugh with Lindsey as they heard Catherine mumbling about having to try so many outfits on and how "they might be finding it fun, but they didn't have to keep taking their clothes off".  
  
A few amusing minutes later Catherine snatched back the curtain and emerged from the booth in a deep pink ankle length dress, split almost all the way along the front of her left leg - ideal for running in should any trouble start. The top of the dress was fitted, with two thin straps on each shoulder, and it hugged her figure perfectly.  
  
Lindsey grinned and nodded triumphantly, then both women turned to Grissom expectantly. He tilted his head to one side, and then to the other, his expression showing that he was studying what he saw very carefully - the way he studied evidence at a crime scene, except with more adoration and appreciation.  
  
"Gil!" Catherine warned.  
  
Grissom smiled. "I like it."  
  
"Finally!" she exclaimed.  
  
"You like it?" Lindsey frowned.  
  
Grissom and Catherine looked to her, confused by her comment.  
  
"You just 'like' it? You need to invest in a dictionary," she said, smiling sweetly so they knew she was joking.  
  
"Sorry," Grissom said, turning back to Catherine. His eyes trailed down to Catherine's feet, then slowly back up to her face, which, he noticed, was a little flushed.  
  
She shifted uncomfortably under his almost predatory gaze. "Gil?!"  
  
"I." he paused as if trying to think of a better word, ". love it?"  
  
Lindsey rolled her eyes.  
  
"Adore it?"  
  
She shook her head in despair, then leaned over to him and whispered something in his ear. Catherine strained to listen but couldn't hear a thing.  
  
"Hey! It's rude to whisper!" she reprimanded light-heartedly.  
  
Grissom smiled slightly at what Lindsey had said then looked at Catherine and said:  
  
"It's beautiful."  
  
Lindsey cleared her throat, very loudly, and Grissom smiled again and said:  
  
"You are beautiful."  
  
Catherine smiled in appreciation, giggling to herself at the fact that Lindsey had told him to say that.  
  
Lindsey cleared her throat again, glaring at Grissom, who quickly turned back to Catherine.  
  
"In fact, you look drop dead gorgeous."  
  
Lindsey winked at her mum, who laughed - both at the situation and at the discomfort on Grissom's face.  
  
"Thank you," Catherine said, "I'd take it as a compliment if she hadn't had to tell you to say it!"  
  
Grissom turned to Lindsey as if for help.  
  
Lindsey shrugged. "Erm, I need to go to the bathroom." And she was gone.  
  
Catherine laughed again, but returned her serious expression when Grissom turned round to face her once more.  
  
"She didn't have to tell me to say that," he tried, the heat of her eyes boring into him making him very nervous.  
  
"That's not what it looked like. You weren't too hot with the compliments 'til she intervened," she teased, still maintaining her serious look. " 'I like it', 'I love it', 'I adore it' " she quoted.  
  
"They were not all I came up with," he said quietly.  
  
"Well, they were all you said, so how would I know otherwise?"  
  
"My actual thoughts weren't - " he began. Then he stopped and changed his approach. "I didn't want to say in front of Lindsey."  
  
Catherine raised her eyebrows. "I'm intrigued. She isn't here now. You gonna share?"  
  
"I don - "  
  
"Gil! If you don't tell me, I'll always think that you couldn't think of anything nice to say."  
  
Emotional blackmail. She knew it was wrong, but it worked every time.  
  
"I think you look very sexy in that dress."  
  
This time she had to smile. "Thank you. You could have said that in front of Lindsey, she's heard the word sexy before."  
  
Grissom shrugged.  
  
"Gil?" Catherine said, interpreting his expression to mean there was something he wasn't telling her.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"What aren't you telling me?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Yeah, right! Spill!. Did Lindsey give you that 'sexy' compliment too?"  
  
"No."  
  
She intensified her staring at him.  
  
"No! That's what I thought when you drew the curtain back."  
  
She softened slightly, but eyed him suspiciously. "Are you sure?"  
  
He nodded.  
  
"That's exactly what you thought when I drew back the curtain?" she asked, with a small smile, knowing that this question would get him. There was something else he wasn't saying, and this should draw it out of him. He wouldn't lie to her. A carefully worded question was all it took.  
  
Grissom inwardly cursed whoever taught her the art of interrogation, and quietly muttered:  
  
"No."  
  
"No?"  
  
"That wasn't exactly what I thought."  
  
Catherine resisted the urge to smile in triumph. "Oh. So, what did you think?" she asked softly.  
  
"Cath, I -"  
  
"Grissom," she said, seriously, leaning forward and resting her hands either side of him on the arms of his chair. "Before we kissed ourselves into this strange bubble of awkwardness and politeness, would you have found it this difficult to tell me what you thought?"  
  
Desperately fighting the natural male inclination to look at her breasts, which were in the bottom of his area of vision, neatly held in perfect form by the dress, Grissom answered:  
  
"Probably not."  
  
"Then tell me!. I don't know about you, Gil, but I'm sick of this. We can't let it ruin our friendship. If you could have told me three days ago, then tell me now!"  
  
"You look so sexy in that dress, that I'm pretty sure no one at that premiere will be watching the movie," he stated, obediently.  
  
Catherine felt herself blush at his comment, as her breath caught for a split second at the unexpectedness of this compliment.  
  
"Wow!" Grissom exclaimed.  
  
Catherine smiled, "What?"  
  
"I did it again."  
  
Catherine laughed, knowing exactly what he was talking about. "I was just. a little taken aback. I didn't expect. that."  
  
"You told me to tell you."  
  
"I know. And thank you," she smiled.  
  
As she felt a familiar silence descending upon them, Catherine stood up straight.  
  
"I should get changed, else we're gonna be late for work."  
  
Grissom nodded slowly. "I suppose you should," he said, sounding a little disappointed.  
  
Catherine glanced back to him, looking at him curiously. He smiled, innocently, and she smiled back then disappeared into the changing booth.  
  
*****  
  
"Now you two are gonna have to decide what you're having faster than you decided on the dress. We haven't got all night," Catherine ordered as they were settling at their table in the restaurant.  
  
"I don't see why you were complaining, I thought you liked shopping," Grissom commented.  
  
"I do. But I don't like repeatedly trying on the same outfits while two observers study me like I'm some sort of blood spatter."  
  
"Now you know how the blood spatter feels," Grissom threw in, opening his menu, and refusing to see the look she was giving him.  
  
A young waitress approached their table, and they all looked up to greet her.  
  
"Would you like to hear tonight's specials?" she asked.  
  
At their affirmative response she proceeded to list several delicious sounding dishes, then waited patiently as her customers considered their order.  
  
"I think I might have the salmon," Catherine mused, studying her menu.  
  
Grissom glanced at Lindsey, then turned to the waitress and said:  
  
"Could we hear the fourth one again, please?"  
  
Lindsey's giggling broke out immediately, and was soon joined by Grissom's own chuckling. Catherine shook her head, apologised to the waitress and asked her to give them a few minutes to decide. The young lady left them, frowning, but smiling.  
  
Catherine glared at Grissom and Lindsey who did manage to stop laughing, but only for a millisecond then they started again.  
  
"I can't take you anywhere," she mumbled, only allowing herself to smile when she was suitably hidden behind her menu.  
  
TBC. 


	10. Chapter Ten

Disclaimer: see chapter one  
  
Chapter Ten  
  
That night, the "Celebrity" reporter's doctor had decided his patient had had enough rest and, providing they didn't get him too worked up, the police could speak to him. So, Grissom and Catherine met Brass at the hospital, and the three of them positioned themselves around the hospital bed.  
  
"Mr Christopher," Brass began. "At the scene you told us you'd been in the tree for half an hour. Is that correct?"  
  
Leo Christopher looked from Brass, standing at the foot of the bed, to Grissom, on his left, then Catherine, on the right, and shifted nervously on his bed.  
  
"Mr Christopher?" Brass prompted.  
  
"Is it really necessary for you all to stare at me like that? I haven't done anything wrong."  
  
"Trespassing on Mr Weston's property," Brass stated.  
  
"Apart from that!. I was just doing my job."  
  
"Well, while you were 'doing your job', another crime was committed at Mr Weston's home."  
  
"The window?. Must have been done before I got there. I didn't see anything."  
  
Brass smiled. "Your photographs tell a different story."  
  
"You've developed my photos? Those are mine!"  
  
"They potentially held evidence relevant to our investigation. And now we know that they do, they're ours."  
  
"You can't do that!"  
  
"Mr Christopher," Catherine took over, "if you've nothing to hide, you won't mind us using your photographs, will you?. Several of the pictures show the window before it was broken. This conflicts with your story. Would you like to change your statement?"  
  
"Speaking of conflict, is there not a conflict of interest here?" Leo smirked at Catherine.  
  
"No. So, how do you explain the window being intact on some of your photographs, but not on others?" Catherine continued, ignoring his comment.  
  
"Are you sure? Should you be on your boyfriend's case?. In fact." he turned to Grissom, but still talked to Catherine, ". should your other boyfriend be on your boyfriend's case?"  
  
Catherine glanced quickly at Grissom, puzzled as to what had caused this comment then responded with:  
  
"You don't need to concern yourself with that. Perhaps you should worry about how guilty you are currently looking."  
  
"I told you! I haven't done anything."  
  
"The evidence suggests otherwise. Why don't you tell us what really happened last night?"  
  
Leo sighed. "I was in the tree, hoping to get some pictures of Marc Weston's new woman - you, evidently. I was up there for about an hour." He glanced, worriedly, at Brass. ". but I honestly never saw anyone else 'til Ryanne Moores came out to look at the broken window. Oh! I did get down for a couple of minutes - call of nature - could have been done then, I suppose."  
  
"Did you go far from the tree?" Brass asked.  
  
"No," he replied, shaking his head.  
  
"Did you hear anything unusual?"  
  
"I had my CD player on. Headphones. Wouldn't have heard a bird if it was on the branch beside me."  
  
Brass nodded. "Well, thank you for your time, Mr Christopher. We'll be in touch if we have any further questions. And, of course, we'll let you know if Mr Weston wishes to press charges."  
  
Outside the room, the three exchanged unimpressed glances.  
  
"Well, that was useful," Catherine commented. "Of course, he could be lying, but something seemed genuine about him."  
  
"He did have a point about." Grissom and Brass began simultaneously, then slowed down, frowning at the other as they both continued to say the same thing: ". the . conflict. of . interest."  
  
"Great minds think alike," Brass smiled.  
  
"Ha!" Catherine snorted. "Two idiots, one thought!"  
  
Both men turned to her, looking shocked and unamused by her words. She just smiled a beautiful, innocent smile, and they backed down.  
  
"Either way, he had a point," Grissom said. "I'm going to have to take you off the case."  
  
"What?!" Catherine exclaimed in disbelief.  
  
"You can't be on this case," Brass replied. "Any evidence you touch could be thrown out."  
  
"Because of my involvement with Marc?"  
  
The men nodded.  
  
"An involvement fabricated for the case," she reminded them. "You can't take me off it!"  
  
"I can take you off the rest of the investigation. You'll just have to do the undercover part," Grissom responded.  
  
"This is ridiculous!"  
  
"It sounds ridiculous, but it needs to be done. If you really were involved with him you'd be removed from the case, so, for realism's sake, you shouldn't be seen to be still actively involved," Grissom explained.  
  
At this Catherine relented. "Okay - but I'm staying in the loop!"  
  
"Of course," Grissom smiled.  
  
"You've been after this case from the beginning," she muttered, with a small smile, as they were heading for the car park.  
  
"I have not!" Grissom argued.  
  
"Oh yeah?. It was my case, then you turned up with that Sheriff story, now I'm out. Sounds pretty suspicious, Gil," she teased.  
  
"You're paranoid."  
  
"Just because you're paranoid, it doesn't mean they're not out to get you."  
  
"Damn it! You're on to me!" Grissom said, sarcastically.  
  
"I am a level three crime scene investigator you know! Trained to solve puzzles," she grinned.  
  
As the two of them shared a laugh at this comment, Brass frowned. He could see where people who knew them might get the idea that they were a couple, but where had the reporter got it from?  
  
TBC. 


	11. Chapter Eleven

Disclaimer: see chapter one  
  
Chapter Eleven  
  
"Yeah.. Bring the whole thing in. That way if he gets anymore, we'll get them straight away," Grissom spoke to Brass on the phone. "Okay. Let us know when you've got something." He hung up the phone and turned to explain the latest developments to Catherine who was sitting on his sofa sorting through paperwork.  
  
"Brass?" she asked.  
  
"Yeah. Marc Weston has received a threatening email. From the wording it seems to be from the same person. It reminds him about his final moment."  
  
"Well, that's new!" she exclaimed.  
  
Grissom nodded. "Makes sense though. Email's the only sure way of getting through the security at the house."  
  
"I take it it's being traced," she said, really more of a statement than a question.  
  
"They're working on it now, and they're bringing the computer in so we'll know if he gets anymore."  
  
"I guess we wai-" Catherine stopped when her cell phone rang. She smiled an apology to Grissom then answered the phone. "Willows.. Yes, Sir." There was a long silence while she listened to the caller. "Okay, consider me on my way," she finished, hanging up the phone.  
  
Grissom looked at her questioningly.  
  
"The Sheriff," she replied.  
  
Grissom rolled his eyes.  
  
"He wants me to go to Marc's," she said, picking up the papers and carrying them to his desk.  
  
"But, I told him you're not processing evidence out of the lab. And it's an email - not really a crime scene."  
  
"It's a personal visit."  
  
"During work hours?" Grissom smirked.  
  
"Extenuating circumstances - my boyfriend needs me," Catherine smiled.  
  
Grissom felt the now familiar pangs of jealousy again and smiled quickly to ensure it didn't show. "You'd better be going then."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
". Wouldn't want to keep Marc waiting."  
  
Catherine's eyes widened. "Do I detect a hint of jealousy, Mr Grissom?" she joked, opening her bag to get her car keys.  
  
"If you only detect a hint, you're not as observant as you used to be," Grissom replied.  
  
Catherine looked up at him from rummaging through her bag, and he gave her a small mischievous smile.  
  
She shook her head and rolled her eyes playfully. "Call me if Brass comes up with anything," she said as she closed her bag. "I'll see you later."  
  
Grissom watched her as she left his office and the mischief in his smile was replaced by sadness. Lately it seemed he was always watching her walk away.  
  
*****  
  
Catherine flashed her ID and a smile to the officers at Marc Weston's gate, then made her way up to the house. She could hear them whispering as she walked away and she internally shook her head at how many people believe what they read in the papers.  
  
As she reached the door it opened before she had even knocked, to reveal Marc Weston.  
  
"One girlfriend reporting for duty," she smiled.  
  
"Hey!" he responded, stepping aside to invite her into the house. "I'm sorry about this."  
  
"It's okay. It'll give us chance to prepare for Friday night, we mustn't look like complete strangers."  
  
"I'm sorry about that too," Marc said as he led her into the lounge. "I told Sheriff Mobley it wasn't necessary, but he insisted. I don't want to put you in any danger. Can I get you a drink?"  
  
"Some water would be great, thanks."  
  
Catherine sat down whilst Marc went to the kitchen for their drinks. She scanned the spacious room. Two of its cream walls were decorated with photographs - of his family, Catherine presumed - another was lined with bookcases housing various books, awards and ornaments, whilst the final wall housed two sets of French doors, leading out to the expansive gardens. Catherine smiled at what money can buy, but was shaken from her thoughts by Marc's return.  
  
He handed her a drink and sat down at the other end of the sofa.  
  
An awkward silence encompassed them for a few minutes as neither knew what to say, or how to behave in this situation. Then Catherine laughed slightly and said:  
  
"Perhaps we should talk. Else it's going to be a long night. Is Ryanne not home?"  
  
"No she's out with friends. She's gonna kill me for not calling her about the email, but there's nothing she could do and I didn't want to interrupt her evening. She tries to hide it, but I know she's been shaken by the letters, she needs the break."  
  
"I'm sure she'll understand. Maybe not at first, but she'll come round," Catherine smiled. "Is she going to the premiere?"  
  
"She was. I've told her not to."  
  
Catherine cringed.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing.. erm, it's just, if I were her, I'd protest."  
  
"Oh, she did. But it's one thing to put myself in the line of fire, I don't want her there."  
  
"Maybe you should have asked her not to go, instead of telling her?"  
  
Marc nodded. "In hindsight," he smiled.  
  
Catherine shook her head. "All men are the same. You can be friends with us for years, but you still don't know what not to say."  
  
Marc smiled. "Mr Grissom?"  
  
Catherine blushed a little. "Psychic?"  
  
"Obvious. So how long have you known each other?"  
  
"Nineteen years."  
  
Marc's eyes widened. "Wow! I don't feel so bad for making these mistakes now. I've only had five years to learn. I guess he's not happy about you going to the premiere as my date then?"  
  
"He told me I wasn't doing it."  
  
Marc mimicked Catherine's earlier cringe.  
  
"Exactly!" Catherine laughed.  
  
"Well, I can't blame him really. I've dated actresses, and it can be difficult to watch your girlfriend pretend to be with another man."  
  
"Oh, Grissom and I aren't. We're not a couple," Catherine explained quickly.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry. I just presumed. You seem so close."  
  
Catherine smiled. "We are. But we're not that close."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"Don't be."  
  
"You're really not - "  
  
Catherine shook her head.  
  
"Well, I've only seen you both a couple of times, but I'd say there's definitely chemistry."  
  
"Oooh, there's definitely chemistry," Catherine smiled, fondly remembering the feelings stirred by the kiss.  
  
Marc raised his eyebrows and grinned. "Ah! Now we're getting somewhere. So you two have never.?"  
  
"Now that's a different question," she smiled teasingly.  
  
*****  
  
Brass stood in the doorway of Grissom's office for almost a minute before the graveyard shift supervisor noticed him. Grissom had been sitting staring into space when the detective had arrived, and he hated to interrupt a man so deep in thought.  
  
"Nice to have you back with us," Brass smirked.  
  
"Sorry," Grissom shrugged.  
  
"Thinking happy thoughts?"  
  
"Not really. Any progress on the case?"  
  
Brass took the hint to drop the subject of his daydreams and replied: "We've traced the email to an internet café just off the strip."  
  
"We should have known."  
  
"The place is twenty four hour, so you and I are going over there now. They're expecting us," Brass smiled.  
  
"I doubt we're going to find anything useful," Grissom commented.  
  
"It's the only lead we've got. And since when do you think the worst?"  
  
"Well, that way I'm never disappointed, and sometimes I'm pleasantly surprised," Grissom answered as they left his office and walked towards the exit.  
  
Brass frowned. "Sounds like something Catherine would say."  
  
Grissom smiled when he realised what he had said. "Yeah, it was."  
  
Brass shook his head. "Gil Grissom having to use other people's words."  
  
"I frequently quote other people if their words are applicable."  
  
"Yes, authors, poets, people of wisdom - "  
  
"Catherine is one of the wisest people I've ever met."  
  
"And the sexiest?" Brass asked, with a grin.  
  
"That's irrelevant, Jim."  
  
"But you're not denying it," he smirked.  
  
"Nor am I admitting it. I'm not discussing it."  
  
"I've seen the way you've been looking at her lately. I've missed something here, but I will find out what it is. I'm not a police captain just 'cause I look good with the badge, you know," Brass stated as the two men climbed into his car.  
  
*****  
  
"So I was a little drunk," Catherine giggled as she continued to tell Marc the story of the time she had pounced on Grissom.  
  
"A little?" Marc said through his own laughter.  
  
"Okay, a lot!. Everyone else had gone home, there was just me and Gil left. And I don't know what came over me, he was just standing there, and I had this urge to. wrap myself round him and. Well, he managed to pull me off. So that put an end to that."  
  
"You sound disappointed."  
  
Catherine sighed. "I guess - in a way - I am. But I wouldn't want it to happen like that anyway - "  
  
"But you would want it to happen," Marc said pointedly.  
  
Catherine smiled. "That's enough about me. We should talk about the case. I know you've told the police everything, but, different day, maybe you'll remember something you missed?"  
  
"I'd much rather talk about you and Grissom. I love a good will-they-won't- they story," Marc smiled.  
  
"Well, that won't help with the case, and I am technically working right now, so. When did you receive the very first letter. in LA?"  
  
*****  
  
Brass and Grissom leaned over the computer as the café's duty manager scrolled through the records and confirmed that was the computer used to send the email.  
  
"Presumably you have a log of who used this computer?" Brass said.  
  
"Only of the ID number we gave them. We won't have a name unless they paid by credit card," the manager explained. "I'll get the file."  
  
"That's what I love about this city," Brass said to Grissom, sarcastically, "Everything's anonymous."  
  
"If you're going to send a death threat, you wouldn't give your real name anyway," Grissom commented, trying to calm Brass's irritation using logic.  
  
"True," Brass nodded, before turning to the manager who had returned with the log. "We're going to need to speak to all staff who were working earlier. Could you arrange that?"  
  
"We're all still here. There was myself, and Peter and Linda. I haven't seen many of the customers tonight though, I've been in the office most of the time. The others might remember something. Do you need to take them to the station or anything, 'cause I'll have to - "  
  
Brass shook his head. "We can talk to them here. Could we use your office?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
*****  
  
"We're either dealing with a genius, or the luckiest person in the world," Brass commented as he and Grissom left the internet café after a fruitless three hours of questioning staff and watching security video tapes. "There're no clues on any of the letters, they seem to materialise on the Weston property, nobody actually puts them there, and when he changes to email he uses the one computer that cannot clearly be seen on the café's security tapes!"  
  
"I doubt it's luck, whoever is behind this knows exactly what they're doing," Grissom responded.  
  
"Pity we don't."  
  
"Archie might be able to enhance these tapes. Who knows, that tiny image might well hold the clue we've been looking for."  
  
"Gil, this 'there's always a clue' thing is getting annoying now, because there really doesn't seem to be a clue," Brass grumbled, obviously quite agitated.  
  
"There doesn't seem to be," Grissom stated, emphasising 'seem', then his cell phone rang before he had chance to finish. He excused himself from Brass and answered it. "Grissom."  
  
"Where are you?" Catherine asked.  
  
"An internet café off the strip. Brass traced the email."  
  
"What happened to keeping me in the loop?"  
  
"You were busy. How did your date go?"  
  
"Actually, it went rather well."  
  
Grissom could tell from her tone of voice that she was smiling.  
  
"What did you find out?"  
  
"I don't think we're dealing with the same writer that was sending the threats in L.A."  
  
"What makes you say that?"  
  
"The M.O. is different. The letters used to come by post, every couple of weeks, and they never made specific threats. These threats are coming much more frequently, and are more specific -"  
  
"His method is escalating."  
  
"I knew you would say that. I don't think that's what's happening here. I think we're dealing with someone else. Someone in Vegas. I think whoever it is wanted us to think it was the L.A person, but my instinct tells me it isn't."  
  
"Does your instinct tell you who it is?"  
  
"No, but that doesn't mean I'm wrong. I know it doesn't really get us anywhere, but we could reassign the resources being used examining the LA stuff?"  
  
"I'll speak to Brass. Are you at the lab?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Start re-examining everything we've got, my instinct tells me we're missing something important. We're on our way back now."  
  
He hung up the phone, and turned to Brass who had been impatiently waiting for the call to end so that he could find out what was going on. He was about to speak when his phone rang again.  
  
"Grissom."  
  
"What the hell are you playing at?!"  
  
It was the Sheriff, and he sounded unhappier than usual.  
  
"I'm investigating the Weston case -"  
  
"Sabotaging it more like!"  
  
Grissom frowned. He rarely understood where the Sheriff was coming from with his comments and instructions, this time he was completely lost.  
  
"I have - "  
  
"I want to see you as soon as you get back to the lab!"  
  
With that the Sheriff hung up, and Grissom put his phone away.  
  
"He didn't sound happy," Brass commented. "I could hear him from here. What is it this time?"  
  
"I have no idea, he said I'm sabo -"  
  
His cell phone interrupted him again.  
  
"You're popular."  
  
Grissom looked at the display this time, he wasn't in the mood for any surprises. "It's Catherine.. Grissom."  
  
"Have you seen any newspapers?"  
  
"No. If I had would I understand why the Sheriff wants my head on a plate?"  
  
"Probably. They were - Okay, sweetie, I'll be home when you wake up. You go back to bed now. Night night."  
  
The line went dead, Grissom frowned again and shifted his phone. "I think the Sheriff just found Catherine."  
  
TBC. 


	12. Chapter Twelve

Disclaimer: see chapter one  
  
Chapter Twelve  
  
"My daughter," Catherine lied to the Sheriff who had just walked in during her phone conversation with Grissom. "She had a nightmare."  
  
"Just needed her mom, eh?" the Sheriff smiled.  
  
"Yeah. What can I do for you?. Grissom's out on the case, he's - "  
  
"I've spoken to Grissom." He looked past her to the desk where a tabloid newspaper lay open at the page he was there to discuss. "I see you've seen the morning paper."  
  
"Yes, Sir. It's an interesting story."  
  
"It doesn't really help keep up the charade we are trying to keep up."  
  
"I know. I didn't know they were following us."  
  
"Catherine," he began and then hesitated, looking very uncomfortable and unsure whether to continue.  
  
"Sheriff, if there's something on your mind, just ask, I can probably calm your fears," Catherine said with a pleasant smile.  
  
"Are you and Grissom involved?"  
  
"Involved?"  
  
"In a relationship?"  
  
"No. I'm quite surprised that you're believing these stories, Sir."  
  
"This one seemed plausible."  
  
Catherine was quite shocked to hear that from him, and she also felt a happy shiver that another person had said there could be something between her and Grissom, but she didn't let any of these feelings show.  
  
"Well, it's fiction. We were shopping, nothing else. It's interesting the twist they can put on an innocent shopping trip."  
  
"But you were shopping together?"  
  
"Yes. I don't recall that being forbidden. And somebody had to make sure I got something nice." The tone and look that accompanied the word 'nice' told the Sheriff that she wasn't impressed by what he'd said to Brass, but it was also subtle enough that she could deny having meant anything by it if necessary.  
  
"Well it's probably best if you don't go out in public together, anywhere unnecessary. Just until Friday night's over with."  
  
*****  
  
"What?!" Grissom exclaimed as Catherine told him what the Sheriff had said. "That's ridiculous! He - "  
  
"And this is why I asked him to let me tell you. I knew you'd start at him, and probably get suspended again."  
  
"I think you're exaggerating."  
  
"Didn't want to take the chance. Besides if I hadn't asked him, I'd never have got to see his face when I said: 'Let me deal with Grissom,' and winked at him." Catherine grinned.  
  
"You didn't?!" Grissom asked in disbelief.  
  
Catherine just widened her smile.  
  
Grissom shook his head. "I give him cheek, I get suspended, you give him cheek."  
  
"I don't give him hassle, Gil. That's why I get away with it."  
  
"Like your promiscuity isn't giving him hassle lately!" Grissom smirked.  
  
This time Catherine's eyes widened. "You're lucky I know you're joking!" she smiled, then she sat down in front of his desk and sighed wistfully. "I might start living vicariously through my tabloid self. She must be having more fun than I am. Two men at once?. I'd settle for one."  
  
"Which one?"  
  
Catherine looked at him and smiled. "Doesn't matter, I don't think she'd let me have either of them. So, I started reviewing the evidence. If we're missing something, it's very well hidden. Buried in fact, under three metres of solid lead."  
  
Grissom looked at her, wondering what she was talking about.  
  
"It was the only thing I could think of that would make it very difficult for us to dig up the clue. If Superman couldn't see through it, I imagine it's difficult to dig through."  
  
Grissom leaned forward, putting his elbows on the desk, and his hands together. Then he said: "Catherine, maybe you should go home."  
  
She narrowed her eyes at him.  
  
"I just need food. My point is, there really doesn't seem to be any clue at all. There are no prints on the letters except the ones we would expect to be there - Marc, Ryanne, the butler."  
  
Grissom's eyes met hers. "Maybe - "  
  
"No. You're not thinking - "  
  
"Inside job."  
  
"The butler did it?"  
  
"He could have done. He's had a lot of free time lately since Marc sent all his staff home. Plenty of opportunity to visit internet cafes."  
  
"But he had an alibi for the letters. We did check."  
  
Grissom thought for a moment. "Perhaps he had help."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"The maid?"  
  
"So now it's a conspiracy?. All the staff had airtight alibis. And what reason would they have to send death threats to their employer? He pays their wages. And they're pretty good wages too. I was considering a career change!"  
  
"It was just a thought. We'll go over everything with a fine-tooth comb next shift. Wouldn't want to aggravate the Sheriff any further by running up unnecessary over time. Would you like to join me for breakfast?"  
  
"You just love winding him up don't you!" Catherine exclaimed.  
  
"Who?" Grissom feigned innocence.  
  
"He specifically told us not to be seen in public and now you - "  
  
"I was going to cook," Grissom stated.  
  
"Oh. Well, thanks, but I need to see Lindsey."  
  
"Okay. Another time."  
  
"So I'll cook," Catherine smiled. "I'll see you shortly."  
  
"I'll be right behind you."  
  
*****  
  
Grissom sat on a stool at the kitchen counter watching Catherine cook. She was standing in front of the stove, wearing casual black trousers and a strappy white top. Grissom couldn't help noticing how perfectly the clothes fit her figure, and how perfect her figure was. The slender lines of her body, the smoothness of her skin, the way her hair danced around her shoulders each time she moved her head. She was beautiful. It was something he had known for nineteen years, but since that kiss, he couldn't stop thinking about her.  
  
"Grissom?" Catherine tried to stir him from the daze he seemed to be in. "Grissom?"  
  
"Sorry. What were you saying?"  
  
"Where was your mind?"  
  
"Nowhere. Just thinking about the case."  
  
Catherine eyed him suspiciously. "Really?. So why do you look so guilty?"  
  
"I don't. Did you say something about pouncing on me?" Grissom frowned.  
  
"So that's what you were thinking about?" Catherine teased. "I was telling you that I told Marc about the time that I pounced on you," she said, turning back to her cooking.  
  
"You told him?!"  
  
"He asked."  
  
"He asked?. About an event only two people know about and are supposed to have forgotten."  
  
She shot him a playful glare as she began to dish out the breakfast. "He asked about us."  
  
"So did the Sheriff, did you tell him?"  
  
"Yeah, he was fine about it. As long as it doesn't make it into the papers," she smiled as she put their plates down on the table.  
  
"You're not funny," Grissom said, following her to the table and sitting down opposite her. "This looks nice."  
  
"Thank you. Are you gonna eat it, or just look at it?"  
  
Grissom glared and smiled at her before proceeding to eat.  
  
"So? Does it taste as nice as it looks?"  
  
"Yes it does."  
  
There was silence as they both ate. After a couple of minutes Grissom looked up at Catherine. She noticed and also looked up, but he had returned to looking at his plate. So she did the same. A few seconds later, he did it again, so she looked up, but once again, he had turned away. The third time her eyes managed to catch his before he could look down.  
  
"Are you okay?" she asked.  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
"Did you want to say something?"  
  
Grissom shook his head. "No."  
  
"Why do you keep looking at me?"  
  
"Do I?"  
  
"Yes. What's wrong?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Do you not like it?"  
  
"It's delicious."  
  
"So what's with the looks?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"You don't want to tell me?"  
  
"There's nothing to tell."  
  
"Fine!" Catherine looked down at her plate, pretending to sulk.  
  
"Catherine?"  
  
She ignored him.  
  
"Cath, it isn't going to work. You're not going to guilt trip me into telling you."  
  
"I thought there was nothing to tell," she smirked.  
  
"It's not important. I was going to speak, I changed my mind."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Does it matter?"  
  
"I suppose not."  
  
They continued eating in silence, until Grissom glanced at Catherine again.  
  
"That's it!" she exclaimed, dropping her fork onto her plate. "Tell me!"  
  
Grissom laughed. "You're so beautiful when you're angry."  
  
"Just when I'm angry?"  
  
"It would be inappropriate for me to answer that."  
  
"Oh, but it wasn't inappropriate for you to kiss me?!"  
  
"So you remember that we kissed?"  
  
"Of course I do!"  
  
"Well why have you never mentioned it?"  
  
"Why have you never mentioned it?"  
  
"I asked first."  
  
"I thought you wouldn't want me to mention it."  
  
"Why would you think that?"  
  
"Well, I know you're not good with people, or personal stuff, I didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable. I saw you after Sara asked you out, you were totally flustered and didn't know how to handle the situation, I didn't want to put you in that position."  
  
"That was different."  
  
"How?"  
  
"She asked me out. It wasn't a mutual feeling."  
  
"And this is?"  
  
"It felt like it."  
  
"So why have you never mentioned it?"  
  
"Because you never mentioned it."  
  
"So why are you mentioning it now?"  
  
"Because you mentioned it," he smirked.  
  
Catherine thought for a second. "So I did. But you started this line of conversation. Why?"  
  
"Because I don't believe myself when I insist that you don't feel the same way as I do. I need to hear it from you, so I can accept it and move on."  
  
"Wouldn't that hurt?"  
  
"Well, there's always a chance you do feel the same. This way hurts less than always knowing that I never took the chance," he shrugged. ". Erm, thanks for breakfast," he said, standing up.  
  
"But you haven't eaten it. Where are you going?" she asked, following him out of the kitchen and towards the front door.  
  
"I don't know what possessed me to say what I have just said. I'm going home before I say anything else."  
  
"Is there something else you want to say?"  
  
He stopped and faced her. "Can we forget this ever happened?"  
  
"Like we forgot I pounced on you?" she smiled.  
  
"No. Can we actually forget this?"  
  
"No," she replied defiantly. "Not until I've had my say. Then if you still want to erase today from history. I'll try. Okay?"  
  
Grissom nodded.  
  
"Okay." She took a deep breath then began. "I can't say that I feel the same about you as you do about me - "  
  
"Cath, is this really necessa - " he said sadly, looking down.  
  
"Because you've never told me how you feel. But I can tell you that it was the most incredible kiss I have ever experienced, and I've wanted to do it again ever since."  
  
He looked up to her in disbelief, and she smiled her dazzling smile.  
  
"So, you still want to forget this conversation?" she grinned.  
  
". Maybe not. Do you still want to kiss me?"  
  
"Hell yeah," she laughed as he wrapped his arms around her and his lips crashed down onto hers.  
  
TBC. 


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Disclaimer: see chapter one  
  
Chapter 13  
  
Catherine hummed happily to herself as she walked towards the break room at the start of the night's shift. She finally had what she had always wanted. Gil Grissom. And an agreement that in the future they would talk to each other instead of trying - and failing - to read the other's mind.  
  
As she approached the room she noticed Grissom coming from the opposite direction, with the same destination. Both of their smiles widened when they saw each other, and they were about to speak when Nick caught up to them and beat them to it.  
  
"Good evening," he said cheerfully, passing them and walking into the break room.  
  
They returned his greeting, then looked back to each other, and smiled even wider than before.  
  
"Hey!" Catherine grinned uncontrollably.  
  
"Hey!" Grissom replied, watching her walk into the room, then following her.  
  
Nick had joined Warrick and Sara at the table, and the three were chattering and whispering.  
  
"You gonna share the secret?" Catherine asked when they all fell silent as she and Grissom walked through the door. She sat down beside Warrick and stared at them expectantly.  
  
"There's no secret," Sara began.  
  
Nick continued. "We were just - "  
  
"Discussing this morning's paper?" Catherine finished for them.  
  
Guilty looks swept the three junior CSIs' faces.  
  
Catherine smiled. "I'd expected at least one of you to call. How did you survive a whole twelve hours of wondering?"  
  
"Oh, we didn't believe it for a second," Nick offered quickly.  
  
Catherine feigned a look of insult, making Nick more nervous than he already was.  
  
"Oh, not that it couldn't be true," he tried to save himself, "... But... Just... Well, just cos it's in the paper, doesn't mean it is true, right?... We shouldn't believe what we read in the papers?"  
  
"I'm glad you're aware of that," Catherine smiled.  
  
"When you're all finished gossiping, we do have crime scenes awaiting us," Grissom interrupted pleasantly, still smiling.  
  
The others turned to face him, and his eyes met Catherine's. She smiled seductively, and as his cheeks flushed slightly he cleared his throat and looked away from her. She smiled proudly to herself.  
  
"Warrick and Nick, car accident on the I-15. Sara, you have a robbery at the Bellagio."  
  
"The Bellagio was robbed?" Nick interrupted. "How did the news miss that?"  
  
"The robbery was in a hotel room, not the casino," Grissom explained.  
  
"First a body in the fountain, now a robbery, wonder what their third piece of bad luck'll be," Warrick commented.  
  
"Cath, I want you to work with Sara. We need to make it look like you're not working the Weston case. This should be a small enough case for you to still be involved, yet appear uninvolved."  
  
Catherine nodded. "Okay."  
  
"Come see me at the end of shift, I'll update you on any developments in our case."  
  
"I'll be there," Catherine smiled. Their eyes locked for a moment, then they remembered there were other people present, and tore themselves away. "Sara, are you ready?"  
  
"I'll meet you at the car. Just gotta grab something from my locker."  
  
Catherine nodded and followed Grissom out of the room.  
  
The other three watched them leave then turned to each other open mouthed.  
  
"It's true!" Sara exclaimed.  
  
"Did you see the way they were looking at each other? There is definitely something going on there," Nick added.  
  
"How could they openly lie to us?"  
  
Warrick replied to Sara's question. "They didn't actually lie to us."  
  
"Trust you to defend them!" she responded.  
  
"I'm not. I agree with you that it looks like there's something going on. I'm just saying, they never actually told us there wasn't... And it's none of our business really."  
  
"Spoilsport!" Sara pouted.  
  
"Hey, if you want to continue imagining what's going on, by all means do - "  
  
"Ew!" Nick and Sara exclaimed simultaneously.  
  
"Man, don't even go there, " Nick continued. "I believe the I-15 is waiting for us." He walked out of the room, vigorously shaking his head to try to erase the images Warrick had conjured up.  
  
*****  
  
"Hey!" Catherine said, peeping her head round Grissom's office door, ten minutes after the end of shift.  
  
"Hey!" he replied, with a smile.  
  
"Do you realise that apart from talking about my Bellagio case, `hey' is about the only thing we've said to each other all night?" she commented, walking in and sitting on the edge of his desk.  
  
"I hadn't thought about it, but now you mention it... I think you're right."  
  
"I am... You haven't thought about me?"  
  
"I didn't say that."  
  
She smiled gratefully. "So, did you find anything under the lead?"  
  
Grissom frowned, confused.  
  
"The case," she clarified.  
  
"Oh. No... He did get another email. `Enjoy your final moment of bliss and contentment'. Another internet café. This one with a temporarily out of service video security system."  
  
"Lucky."  
  
"Not for us."  
  
"You hungry?"  
  
"What did you have in mind?" he smirked.  
  
"Breakfast... Your place... I don't have to rush home, Lindsey's at her friends."  
  
"On a school night?"  
  
"They have to be in early for a trip. Bethany's mom offered to take her to school in case I got stuck at work."  
  
"That's very kind of her."  
  
"Yes it is... So?"  
  
"So?"  
  
"You wanna stay here all morning discussing Beth's mom, or do you want to join me at your place?"  
  
"Oh... That's a tough choice," he said, standing up.  
  
She hopped off the desk. "I'll see soon," she smiled.  
  
"Wait!" he instructed her, walking towards her.  
  
Her puzzled look fell when he placed his hand gently on her cheek, and tilted her head towards his. He brushed his lips softly against hers, but pulled back when she didn't respond as expected.  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
"We're at work," she said, quietly.  
  
"The blinds are shut. No one can see."  
  
A smile crept onto her face. "You had this planned."  
  
He gave a small shrug. "I don't want to keep my lips off you... Shall we try again?"  
  
"Please do."  
  
She could almost feel his lips on hers when the phone rang.  
  
"You're not here," she said, pressing her body to his and capturing his lips before he could argue.  
  
And he didn't want to argue. His hands held her tight against him, whilst hers stroked the back of his neck as their mouths frantically explored and tasted each other. Never once letting air between them, she manoeuvred them to the door, and lowered one hand to lock it. When she couldn't find the lock, she moved her head slightly, and he took advantage, immediately moving his lips along her jaw line to her neck. She let out a short sigh as he lightly trailed kisses up and down her sensitive skin, and felt him smile against her, when she moaned as he sucked gently on her ear.  
  
"What are you laughing at?" she joked, breathlessly.  
  
He paused from his attention to her ear to reply. "You seem to be enjoying this."  
  
"Yeah?" She brushed herself against his groin. "Well, so do you."  
  
A frustrated sigh escaped him, and he backed her against the door, crushing his lips onto hers. "We need to get out of here," he mumbled between kisses.  
  
"I was thinking more that we need to get out of these clothes."  
  
"You really want to do this here?"  
  
"Yes!" she exclaimed. "...But, no!" she pouted.  
  
Grissom laughed, and pulled away from her. "Go... I'll follow you as soon as I've... calmed down." He kissed her one last time, and opened the door.  
  
"Don't you dare answer that phone if it rings!" she insisted as she checked her clothes and walked through the doorway.  
  
"Wouldn't dream of it!" he smiled.  
  
TBC... 


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Disclaimer: see chapter one  
  
Chapter 14  
  
It was two o'clock in the afternoon on the day of the premiere, and things still weren't settled in the Weston household. Ryanne was sitting on the sofa wearing the pout and puppy dog eyes that so frequently got her her own way, whilst Marc stood in front of her refusing to give in.  
  
"It's for your own safety, Ry," he argued. "I'm not gonna put you in danger."  
  
"But you'll put yourself in danger!"  
  
"I'm not going to let him stop me from living my life - "  
  
"But my life doesn't matter?!" she shouted, rising to her feet.  
  
"Yes, your life matters! That's why I want you to stay here... I don't want anything to happen to you."  
  
"But what if something happens to you?" she asked more calmly. "... Do you think I want to live with that?"  
  
"Nothing's going to happen."  
  
"Then I can go," she smiled victoriously.  
  
Marc shook his head and smiled. "How do you do that?"  
  
"Years of practice."  
  
"Please stay here. I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to you."  
  
Ryanne stayed silent for a moment and looked into his eyes so full of concern and fear. "Okay," she finally agreed. "But you're taking me to see this movie when it's out."  
  
"I'll even buy you popcorn," Marc smiled appreciatively, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into a hug. "Thank you."  
  
"Hey, you know I'd do anything for you."  
  
"Reluctantly," he added.  
  
"You know me so well... So what time's Catherine coming over?" she asked, collapsing back onto the sofa and grinning knowingly.  
  
"About five-thirty... What's with the look?"  
  
"What look?"  
  
"That look!... The story about me and Catherine was fiction... I've known her less than a week."  
  
"I didn't say a thing."  
  
"But you looked... like that!"  
  
"Well, she's attractive, she seems nice - "  
  
"And she's taken... Didn't you read yesterday's paper?"  
  
"Honey, you know I don't believe what I read in the paper," she smiled. "But, you're probably right. There is a hell of a lot of chemistry between those two."  
  
"Oh, there's more than chemistry," he said, sitting beside her. "I'd say they're soul mates."  
  
Ryanne gave a short laugh. "You're such a hopeless romantic."  
  
"Hopeless?!" he protested.  
  
*****  
  
"Gil, I have to go," Catherine said, reluctantly trying to pull herself out of his arms, which were tightly around her waist, refusing to let her leave his townhouse.  
  
"I don't want you to go," he responded, kissing her neck softly.  
  
"And I don't want to go... But I have to be at Marc's in about two hours, and I - "  
  
He pressed his lips hard against hers, silencing her reasoning. She immediately relaxed into the kiss, her mouth opening to allow him access, her arms embracing him as his did her. It was only when his hand reached the hem of her shirt, and began to slowly move upwards, that reality dawned on her, and she realised if she didn't leave now, she never would.  
  
"Gil," she said, breathlessly. "I really have to go."  
  
"Really?" he pouted, his hand continuing its path up her shirt.  
  
"Oh, don't look at me like that!" she reprimanded.  
  
"Like what?" he asked innocently.  
  
"It's emotional blackmail you know!"  
  
"I just really don't want you to leave," he said as his hand cupped her breast and he ran his thumb slowly across her nipple.  
  
She trembled at his touch, and for a second was unable to speak, so he took advantage of the silence and continued.  
  
"And I can tell you don't want to go... So stay."  
  
"I have to go to work."  
  
"No, you have to go on a date... A potentially incredibly dangerous date," he said seriously.  
  
She pulled away from him, the hints of anger in her face being enough to persuade him to let go. "Is that was this is all about?... It's not that you want me to stay, it's that you don't want me going to this premiere?... I thought we'd talked about this. I decide where I go, and what I do!"  
  
"We have talked about it... But that was before."  
  
"Before what? Before we slept together?... What, so now you think that gives you some sort of control over me?"  
  
"You know that isn't what I think!... But, yes, before we slept together. Before we made love. Before I acted on feelings I have kept suppressed for nineteen years!... I've only just got you Catherine, I don't want to lose you!"  
  
The anger swiftly vanished from her face and voice. "You're not going to lose me," she said softly, wrapping her arms round him. "I've only just got what I've been after for nineteen years, do you think I'm gonna leave now?... I love you, Gil Grissom, and I ain't going nowhere!"  
  
"But - "  
  
"But nothing... There'll be police everywhere. No-one's getting in that building without a ticket. And no-one's getting anywhere near Marc Weston."  
  
"But - "  
  
"Nor, are they going to get a good line of fire, if they plan to shoot him," she added quickly, pre-empting his comment.  
  
Grissom smiled at how well she knew him. "I love you."  
  
"Good." She kissed him passionately once more, then stepped away. "Now I have to go make myself look beautiful."  
  
"You always look beautiful."  
  
"You have to say that," she winked at him. "You should get some rest before work... I'll see you later."  
  
She brushed her lips against his one last time before leaving. This time as he watched her walk away he prayed that she was right, and that everything was going to be okay.  
  
TBC... 


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Disclaimer: see chapter one  
  
Chapter 15  
  
Surrounded by people, hidden amongst others, his true intentions concealed by what had brought them all to this place, a man stood in the crowd outside a theatre in the centre of Las Vegas. He watched closely as cars pulled up and people entered the building. All around him their fans cheered and screamed, and occasionally he joined in so his silence would not be conspicuous, but really he was looking for one person in particular – and cheering wasn't what he had in mind.  
  
*****  
  
Whilst Catherine and Marc were making their way to the premiere, Grissom had headed into work early, not wanting to sit around wondering if everything was going smoothly.  
  
Upon his arrival he was informed that they were just about to call him, as another email had been received, and they were in the process of tracing it. Now he was sitting in his office, looking at paperwork, wishing that the trace could be done more quickly so that his thoughts might be diverted from Catherine. Not that he wanted to stop thinking about Catherine, but rather the potential danger he had allowed her to put herself in. This thought haunted him despite the fact that he knew there was nothing he could have done to stop Catherine from doing it. He still felt helpless. She could be in danger and he couldn't help her.  
  
His hand moved to his phone but he stopped himself from calling her. She would kill him. He could see the look on her face, the anger in her eyes. She would know he was just concerned, but she would still severely reprimand him for not believing in her ability to do her job. So he returned to his papers and to his unyielding thoughts.  
  
*****  
  
"Are you nervous?" Marc asked Catherine as their limousine approached the theatre where the premiere was being held.  
  
"A little," she laughed shyly.  
  
Marc smiled understandingly. "You'll be fine. Just smile and keep moving. If we don't keep moving, reporters will get us and it'll be hours before we get inside."  
  
"Okay. I'll do my best," she smiled. "What about you? Are you nervous?"  
  
"Me? No! I've done this loads of times!" he laughed, but there was anxiety in his voice and laughter that did not go unnoticed.  
  
"Marc!" Catherine scolded.  
  
He looked at her and she saw that his eyes were filled with fear.  
  
"Hey," she said softly, placing her hand on his, "it's gonna be fine."  
  
He nodded slowly. "I just... People kept referring to it as putting myself in the line of fire, but it never felt like that's what I was doing... until now."  
  
"I assure you there will be no firing!" Catherine stated confidently. "This dress cost me a fortune!"  
  
Marc laughed slightly. "Do you think this guy'll be bothered about that?"  
  
"If he knows what's good for him!"  
  
They were both laughing as the car came to a stop outside the theatre.  
  
Marc took a deep breath and looked out of the window.  
  
Catherine watched him for a second. "There are police everywhere," she reassured him, "And I'll be right by your side the entire time."  
  
Marc was silent.  
  
"But we can always use another entrance?" she added.  
  
"No! I won't let this stop me from being me... Are you sure you want to do this?"  
  
"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't," she smiled. "Are you ready?"  
  
"As I'll ever be... Let's go."  
  
Marc knocked on the door of the car, it was opened and he stepped out. Immediately cameras clicked all around him; held back by a barrier and security officers, fans cheered and screamed, frantically waving and shouting to him. He offered them a smile and a wave, which served only to make them wilder, then he turned to the car and offered his hand to Catherine. She stepped out of the limousine and her eyes instantly scanned the crowd for anything suspicious.  
  
Catherine recognised several officers dispersed throughout the crowd, and was so occupied in analysing other members of the crowd that she jumped, startled, when Marc leaned close to her and whispered in her ear.  
  
"Try to smile while you're worrying."  
  
Catherine smiled, "Sorry."  
  
"That's better," he smiled back.  
  
The limousine pulled away to allow the entrance of the next star, and the two of them made their way towards the building.  
  
And the man in the crowd took a step closer to the barrier.  
  
*****  
  
The ringing phone broke Grissom out of a daze he had fallen into – a daze which, of course, involved thoughts of Catherine.  
  
"Grissom."  
  
"We've traced the email," a happy female voice said. Detective Conroy. She had been assigned to cover this aspect of the case while Brass was at the theatre.  
  
"That was quick."  
  
"We're good." Even her voice smiled. "I'll meet you outside the lab in five."  
  
She was about to hang up when Grissom stopped her. "Wait!" He listened for a second to ensure she was still there, then continued. "You've got an address?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"A café?"  
  
"Yeah. I'll give you the details when I see you. Outside, now in four."  
  
And with that she did hang up.  
  
*****  
  
"Stage one over with," Catherine said as they stepped through the door to the theatre. "Do you think the press got any pictures of you, or could they just see bodyguards?" she laughed.  
  
"I was surprised by how many there were. It's nice to know so many people are willing to put themselves in danger just to keep me safe."  
  
"It pays our wages," Catherine shrugged, with a smile.  
  
"I see," Marc laughed.  
  
"I w – "  
  
Catherine was cut off as screams sounded behind them and two bodyguards pushed them to the ground. She fought to see what was happening but they were completely shielded by men in black suits. There was more screaming, and shouting, and they could hear several people running past them. Thuds and clattering, added to the mixture of sounds that were the only clues to what was going on. Then she heard Brass' voice shout "I've got him!" and a lot of the noise grew quieter as they were obviously moving outside.  
  
When things seemed to have calmed down the bodyguards moved and Catherine and Marc were able to stand upright again. Looking towards the site of the commotion they were shocked to see a red substance splattered on the floor and one wall.  
  
"What the hell happened?" Catherine demanded of one of the guards.  
  
"Some maniac decided to throw paint at the woman behind you. She was wearing a fur coat," he explained.  
  
"So it's paint," Catherine sighed with relief. Then she turned to Marc who was white as a ghost.  
  
"Are you okay? Sit down." She led him to a bench against one of the walls and sat him down, crouching in front of him.  
  
"I thought – "  
  
"I know... But it wasn't. You're fine, I'm fine... The dress is fine." Her last comment had the desired effect of making Marc smile a little. "Take deep breaths, and just try to calm down... You're fine. Okay?"  
  
Marc nodded slowly.  
  
Catherine stood and spoke quietly to one of the bodyguards who she had noticed had been using a radio.  
  
"What's going on?" she asked.  
  
"Everything's to go ahead as normal. The lady who got hit's fine. The guy's been taken to the station. We're to carry on as instructed. This could be a diversion, or it could be completely unrelated, but our guy could still have something planned."  
  
Catherine nodded her understanding. "We'll take a few minutes for Marc to calm down, then we'll head into the auditorium."  
  
The bodyguard agreed. "You should sit down with him," he suggested.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"You're shaking."  
  
Catherine looked down at her hands, and they were trembling like he had said. "I hadn't even noticed."  
  
The bodyguard smiled pleasantly. "Go and sit down. I'll get someone to bring you some water."  
  
Catherine smiled her appreciation and turned towards the bench, but she quickly turned back. "Hey!"  
  
He looked at her quizzically.  
  
"This is our secret," she smiled. "Anyone hears about it, I'll hunt you down."  
  
He laughed and nodded. "Now, sit!"  
  
With the slightest glare of protest, she obeyed, sitting beside Marc on the bench. Noticing that his hands were shaking more than hers, she took hold of them. "You're fine. Just keep repeating that to yourself in between reminding yourself to breathe," she said light-heartedly.  
  
Marc smiled what would have been a little laugh if he hadn't been so tense. "Thank you, Catherine."  
  
"I didn't do anything. I was on the floor with you."  
  
"Thanks for being supportive, and, I suppose, looking after me. You must think I'm soft."  
  
"I do not! This is the only reaction I would expect. You're allowed to be scared!"  
  
"Thanks... But can we make a deal?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"You keep my secret, I'll keep yours."  
  
Catherine laughed. "What gave it away?"  
  
"Your hands aren't stopping mine from shaking, they're helping them."  
  
"Ah!" she grinned. "We've got a deal."  
  
For a few minutes they both sat in silence. A member of the theatre staff brought them some water, which they accepted with a friendly thank you, then they returned to the silence, occupied with thoughts of what could have been.  
  
*****  
  
"I'm getting sick of this!" Grissom exclaimed as he and Detective Conroy left the "Log Me On" internet café. "The police department should set up an internet café security program to ensure they all have operational security cameras... that particularly point at the consoles criminals will use."  
  
"Suggest it to the Sherriff," Conroy grinned.  
  
"I'll let you have that pleasure... I'm missing something on this case. There's no way there can be this little evidence."  
  
"Maybe there is... He doesn't want to get caught."  
  
"But he does want to get caught... Why choose a celebrity if you don't want the publicity?" Grissom commented climbing into his tahoe. "I'll have to go through everything again."  
  
Conroy nodded. "It'll give you something to do... Keep your mind off Catherine."  
  
Grissom looked at her. "That's very bold, Detective."  
  
Conroy smiled. "Sorry."  
  
"Did Jim put you up to it?"  
  
She nodded.  
  
Grissom shook his head. "He's so nosey."  
  
They shared a short laugh about the police captain, then fell into a serious silence, which Conroy broke.  
  
"Catherine can take care of herself. And there are like fifty other people there being paid to take care of her. She'll be fine."  
  
"I know," Grissom said solemnly.  
  
"I'm sure you do," she nodded.  
  
"Let me know if you come up with anything," he said, settling into his seat.  
  
"I will... And, just so you know, when Brass asks, I learned nothing."  
  
Grissom nodded his thanks, the two exchanged smiles, and he pulled out of the car park.  
  
*****  
  
Three hours later Catherine and Marc emerged, unharmed, from the theatre. Still surrounded by bodyguards they made their way to the waiting limousine.  
  
"That wasn't bad," Catherine smiled, knowing that her praise of the film was an understatement.  
  
"Yeah, was okay," Marc laughed.  
  
"You seemed totally enthralled in it."  
  
"I was! I surprised myself actually. Thought I wouldn't be able to relax."  
  
"It's good that you did. You needed a break."  
  
"I know. It was nice. To get lost in a different world for a couple of hours... Now, I wanna go home, put my feet up and listen to Ryanne pester me about the fact that she couldn't come," he smiled.  
  
They slid into the limo and began the journey back to Marc's. Catherine's car was there from earlier, and she just wanted to collect it and head straight to Grissom. She'd go to a crime scene if she had to, she needed his arms around her. Though she wouldn't like to admit it, the incident earlier had shaken her, and she wanted the comfort of his presence.  
  
*****  
  
"Coffee?" Marc offered as they stood in the cool night air outside his house.  
  
"No thanks. I'd better get going."  
  
"To see Grissom?"  
  
"You sure you're not psychic?" she smiled. "Tonight was unusual. But nice."  
  
"Yeah. Thanks again for – "  
  
"Hey, don't mention it – literally," she laughed. "I'll see you soon." She gave him a hug. "Now, you go in, find Ryanne and tell her she didn't miss much."  
  
"I'll wait til you've gone."  
  
"No! I'm gonna find out where Gil is before I set off. You could be standing out here all night. Go inside! That's an order from your bodyguard," she smiled.  
  
"Okay. Goodnight. And thanks again."  
  
"Goodnight."  
  
She got into her car and Marc opened his front door, waved to her and went inside. Taking out her phone, she dialled Grissom's cell and waited for a reply. She didn't have to wait long.  
  
"Hey!" she said, smiling uncontrollably at the sound of his voice.  
  
"Hey yourself. Are you okay?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I heard about the paint incident. Are you okay?"  
  
"I will be when I've seen you," she replied, the memory of the fear returning now that she was out of the situation that required her professionalism. "Are you at the lab?"  
  
"Yes. You should go home and rest. You've had quite a night."  
  
"I need to see you first. No arguments. So I'll come straight over there. Don't get called to any crime scenes! Or at least let me know where you're going."  
  
"Okay. But you're not staying all night!"  
  
"Bossy!"  
  
"That's the idea."  
  
"Okay, I'll see you s – " She stopped when she saw Marc running towards the car. "Gil, I'll call you back." She leapt out of the tahoe and ran towards him. "What's wrong?"  
  
Tears were streaming down his face and his entire body was shaking and gasping for air. "Ry - ... You have... you have ...," he tried to speak through the gasps, "You have to ... tell me ... it isn't true... tell me!"  
  
Catherine felt tears streaming down her own cheeks as she realised what he was talking about. She ran into the house and, not seeing anything in the foyer, ran into the lounge. And her fears were confirmed. Ryanne's lifeless body lay on the sofa.  
  
"She's just sleeping, right?" Marc cried from the room doorway.  
  
But for the absence of the rise and fall of her chest she did look like she was sleeping, but they both knew she wasn't. Catherine gently pressed two fingers to Ryanne's neck to check for a pulse she knew wouldn't be there.  
  
"Catherine," Marc barely whispered through his sobs.  
  
Catherine wiped the tears from her face and turned to him and shook her head.  
  
"No!... She can't... She can't be!" he shouted. "No!... No... No..."  
  
With each word the volume decreased, as energy left him. He crossed the room and went to embrace the body, but Catherine stepped in front of him.  
  
"I want to hold her," he cried.  
  
"I know you do," Catherine responded, hating the fact that she had to stop him. "But you can't."  
  
"I need to hold her," he sobbed, collapsing into Catherine's arms. "I need to – "  
  
"I know... But we can't disturb the scene," she cried, trying her best to calm down, but she couldn't. The more upset Marc got, the more upset she got, and as he dropped onto his knees on the floor, she followed him, and wrapped her arms around him.  
  
Two officers ran in, having seen the exchange between Catherine and Marc outside. She looked up at them, and with one look told them they knew what to do. They went about securing the scene, and contacting the relevant police and crime scene investigators, whilst she turned her attention back to Marc, and held him even tighter, allowing her own tears to fall unrestrained, as he lay in her arms and broke down.  
  
TBC... 


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Disclaimer: see chapter one.  
  
Chapter 16  
  
Passing the layout room, Grissom did a double take and stopped when this confirmed that his initial observation was correct. Frowning, with both confusion and concern, he stepped into the doorway.  
  
"Cath?" he said softly.  
  
She was sitting at the table, one elbow leaning on it, head resting on her hand, with folders, photographs and reports spread out in front of her.  
  
When she didn't respond to his enquiry he stepped further into the room and gently laid his hand on her shoulder. When she almost jumped off her stool, he also jumped backwards.  
  
"Gil! You scared the life out of –"  
  
"What are you doing?" he asked seriously.  
  
"I'm reviewing the evidence in the Weston case," she said, defensively, her tone the result of the anger she could detect in his voice.  
  
"Again?" He looked at her sternly, and that said everything else he wanted to say.  
  
That look retold what he had said to her countless times in the last week. Since the premiere, and the discovery of Ryanne's body, Catherine had become obsessed with the case. The evidence had been reviewed several times by different members of the team and none of them had come up with anything new. But Catherine wouldn't have it that there wasn't a clue, and, forgoing sleep and food, she was spending every spare minute trailing over all the evidence. Grissom had thought he had finally got through to her early this particular evening, when she had missed half of the briefing at the start of shift, simply because she was too tired to pay attention. He had convinced her to go home and rest. At least, he thought he had. Finding her in here proved that wrong.  
  
"We must be missing something!" she exclaimed turning back to the pictures.  
  
"Well if four other CSIs didn't find it when they were wide awake, you're sure as hell not gonna find it while your asleep!"  
  
"I wasn't asleep! I was thinking!"  
  
"You were asleep Cath! You nearly fell off the chair when I simply touched your shoulder... You haven't slept in nearly a week! And when was the last time you ate?... You know better than this. These are conversations I have to have with Sara. She gets emotionally involved, and obsessive. But she hasn't been a CSI as long as you. You know that you are no use in this state!... Go home, sleep, eat, come back at the start of next shift and if you're lucky, I'll let you carry on working the case."  
  
"You'll let me carry on? This is my case!" she yelled, jumping to her feet.  
  
"Catherine! I do not want to argue with you. But I've tried softly-softly and it isn't getting through! If you don't rest and come back with a fresh mind and set of eyes, I will have no choice but to remove you from the case and prevent your access to the evidence."  
  
"You'd do that?"  
  
"It's for your own good. And the good of the case. If you're tired you get sloppy, if you're sloppy the evidence won't stand up in court. And when we catch this guy, he'd probably walk free," he said, more calmly.  
  
"You're exaggerating!"  
  
"You know I'm not... Please, Cath," he stepped towards her and gently cupped the side of her face, but she pulled away.  
  
"Cyanide doesn't just turn up in bottled water!"  
  
"I know."  
  
"We should have found it. It had to have been in the house since the first day we were called out. We should have found it!" Her voice was shaking as she spoke.  
  
"We had no reason to look for it. You know that."  
  
"But we should have found it!" she glared at him.  
  
"You know that's not true..." He stepped towards her once more, this time she let him take her hand. "Pushing me away and pushing Marc away, and isolating yourself from the rest of the team is not going to help."  
  
Knowing he was right, she lowered her eyes to the floor, unable to meet his gaze, but he put his hand under her chin as he continued to speak, and slowly returned her saddened beautiful blue eyes to his. "We promised we would talk to each other in future, and not hide our feelings... I know Friday was hard for you, I want to be there for you. Talk to me."  
  
The defensive wall she had worn for the last week slowly began to crumble as she looked into his eyes. She had avoided them since that night, knowing that she would break the minute she saw them, and she didn't want to be that weak. She needed to feel his arms around her, she loved him so much, and it frightened her. She didn't want to be that dependent on somebody else. Images of Marc flashed before her eyes every time she closed them, and she knew she never wanted to feel that level of pain, if she ever lost that constant. But every time she looked at Grissom she knew it was too late. He had got that close to her, and she couldn't fight it anymore.  
  
As her lips began to tremble and the tears built up in her eyes, Grissom wrapped his arms around her, and held her to him as she cried.  
  
"He loved her, Gil... You could tell... And he was ... he was so upset... It broke my heart to watch him, to see him crying, to see him wanting to hold her. .. But I couldn't let him... I couldn't let him near her... I had to stop him from holding the woman he loved one last time! And all because we didn't do our job properly!" she sobbed into his chest, burying her head in the security of his presence.  
  
He stroked her hair tenderly, and held her tightly, trying to comfort her as best he could.  
  
"Honey, you know we did everything possible to prevent this from happening. We weren't to know that it was already set up inside the house... You need to go home and sleep. I'll – "  
  
He was interrupted by his cell phone ringing. Catherine stepped away from him so he could answer it.  
  
"It'll go to voicemail," he said, reaching out to draw her back to him.  
  
She smiled appreciatively, but said: "You should answer it. It could be important... And like you say, I should go home."  
  
"But – "  
  
"I'll wait til you're finished on the phone," she smiled, weakly.  
  
"I'll just be a minute," he said, apologetically, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing his phone. "Grissom."  
  
While Grissom talked on the phone, Catherine wiped her eyes and tried to compose herself well enough to be seen in the corridors of the lab on her way out.  
  
The conversation was short and Grissom hardly said anything so it was impossible for her to decipher what the phone call was about. When he had ended the call, he turned to face her.  
  
"There's been another email. They're working on a trace now."  
  
Catherine's eyes lit up with hope, and he knew she was about to protest the order for her to go home so he continued quickly.  
  
"If you promise you'll go to my office now and sleep, I promise I'll wake you when they've traced the email and we're ready to go," he offered.  
  
Catherine's smile was a little more hopeful this time, as she said, "Deal." Then she kissed him softly, once, on his lips and headed for his office.  
  
*****  
  
It was well into the following day shift when the trace on the email finally came through. Catherine stuck to her side of the bargain, and had slept for several hours in Grissom's office. Either that or she had pretended to be sleeping each time he had called in to check on her. Therefore he kept to his side and now they were en route to an apartment block, apartment nine of which apparently housed the computer from which the email was sent. Brass was waiting in the private car park when they arrived. He was talking to a tall, dark haired gentleman as their car pulled up, but upon noticing them he excused himself and met them as they exited the car.  
  
"Apartment is let to a Miss Anne Morris, who doesn't appear to be home. Mr John Hathorn, here, is going to let us in. He's looking after the building while the landlord is visiting family in Africa. We were just waiting for you guys," Brass explained.  
  
"Has he any idea when Miss Morris will be back?" Catherine asked.  
  
"He thinks she must be out of town. He hasn't seen her at all while he's been here."  
  
"And how long is that?" she continued.  
  
"Since Monday. The landlord, Mr Hooper," Brass said, checking his notes for the name, "got a call saying his mother had been taken ill. He phoned John on Sunday evening and asked him if he'd mind keeping an eye on things... A couple of the tenants are rather unruly, apparently, and he doesn't like to leave the building unsupervised... Shall we?"  
  
Grissom and Catherine both nodded, and the three of them joined a police officer and John Hathorn, and followed the latter to apartment number nine, which he dutifully unlocked for them.  
  
"I'll be out here if you need me," he said pleasantly, though his air of nervousness was still evident. Obviously he was worried what Miss Morris, and Mr Hooper were going to say about him letting them in. As far as he was concerned, he was doing what was right, but that didn't stop him worrying.  
  
"Thank you," Brass said as he and the officer entered to ensure the apartment was clear.  
  
"We appreciate your co-operation," Catherine smiled. "And I'm sure Mr Hooper would have done the same thing."  
  
This seemed to ease the worry lines on the man's face a little, but he still wasn't completely convinced.  
  
The police declared that it was clear, and the CSIs went to work on the apartment. The first task being initial observations. Although, on entering they found there was very little to observe. The door opened onto a spacious open plan lounge, kitchen, dining area, with two doors along the left wall. Presumably a bathroom and a bedroom, but that would be confirmed later. But the room was devoid of all furnishings but for a computer and desk against the right wall.  
  
"The rest of the apartment is like this too," Brass stated seeing the surprise on the two investigators' faces. "That's the only thing in here."  
  
Grissom and Catherine exchanged looks then Grissom said:  
  
"Let's hope it's the one we're looking for."  
  
*****  
  
Several hours later, they emerged from the apartment, having photographed all the equipment and how it was connected together in order to re-connect it back at the lab.  
  
Brass was outside explaining what was happening to John, and trying to gather as much information from him as possible.  
  
"Have you ever seen Miss Morris?" he was asking him. "Could you give us a description?"  
  
Hathorn shook his head. "I've never seen her. She only moved in about a month ago. This is the first time I've looked after the building since then."  
  
"Okay. Thank you. We're gonna need to get in touch with Mr Hooper. Do you have a contact number for him?"  
  
*****  
  
"A month," Catherine said, as she and Grissom walked towards the break room for a much needed cup of coffee, "Just before the letters started to arrive."  
  
Grissom nodded his agreement.  
  
When he didn't speak, she continued, "It looks like we may have a lead."  
  
Grissom nodded again. "Good things come to those who wait."  
  
TBC... 


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Disclaimer – see chapter one  
  
Chapter 17  
  
Catherine had been looking at the latest evidence in the Weston/Moores case for at least twenty minutes, and it had become apparent that no matter how hard she was wishing for it to be different, it was still exactly the same.  
  
Re-reading the IT report one last time, and with one last look at the photograph of Anne Morris that Mr Hooper had provided upon his early return from Africa, she sighed heavily and dropped her head to her chest.  
  
"Cath?" Grissom spoke as he walked into the room. "What have you got?"  
  
She turned around and looked up at him. "Mr Hooper brought in his file on Anne Morris, and the report is in on the computer."  
  
"Anything useful?" he asked, not missing the dejection in her voice.  
  
She stepped aside, gesturing towards the table. "See for yourself."  
  
Grissom stepped forwards and picked up the sheet with the photograph attached to it.  
  
"She looks familiar," he commented with a quick glance in Catherine's direction.  
  
"Yeah," she agreed. "Look closely."  
  
Grissom studied the photograph for a few seconds then his brow creased, and he turned to Catherine, shock written across his features.  
  
"It's – "  
  
Catherine nodded before he had even finished his sentence. "Now read the report."  
  
"You could just summarise it... speed this up a little?" he offered, smiling slightly, so she would know he meant it in a friendly way.  
  
"Sorry... I'm just having trouble taking it in... The computer was programmed to send several more emails. One every couple of days for the next two weeks..."  
  
Grissom nodded.  
  
"Then there would be nothing for two weeks, then it was programmed to send..." she paused as she sifted through the report and turned to the page she wanted. "... this."  
  
Grissom took the report from her and read through the email, his eyes widening gradually as he read. When he had reached the end, he slowly closed the report and his eyes met Catherine's.  
  
For a moment neither of them spoke. Silence filled the room as they were both running the information over in their minds for any possible way that they could be misinterpreting it. Sighing, Grissom eventually said:  
  
"Has Brass seen this?"  
  
Catherine nodded slowly.  
  
"And?" Grissom prompted, wishing to know what the Detective had said.  
  
"And... Case closed. It fits. We've had nothing. No possible clue as to how, or why, any of this happened. And now we know. And, I don't want to believe it, but there's nothing I can do. It does fit all the other evidence, or lack of. Except her alibi for the time the first letter was delivered, but, as that was provided by close friends of hers, it's been deemed unreliable."  
  
Grissom frowned, more unhappy than confused. "So that's it?"  
  
"That's it. As far as they're concerned they've got a confession."  
  
"They can't prove she wrote that."  
  
"And we can't prove she didn't... There are no fingerprints at all on that computer. Not hers, not anybody else's... If we're gonna convince the Sheriff that she's been framed, we're gonna need a suspect. And so far – as much as I hate to admit it - she's the only one. None of the other evidence pointed to anybody. And now this all points only to her."  
  
Grissom sighed heavily. "If they close the case, we may never know what really happened."  
  
"But to get them to keep it open, we need proof that this isn't what really happened... And we don't have any... And we don't have anywhere to look... They're gonna see it as us trying to get the evidence to lead where we want it to lead..."  
  
Catherine took a breath as if she was going to carry on, but she stopped herself.  
  
Knowing what she was reluctant to say Grissom finished for her. "And maybe that's what we are doing?"  
  
Catherine looked away. She didn't want to have to admit that this could all be true. It would tear Marc apart, and she couldn't bear the thought of causing him anymore grief.  
  
Grissom stepped towards her and put his arms round her. "He'd probably prefer to hear it from you," he said softly, as if he'd read her mind and knew she was thinking about Marc. "I'll go with you."  
  
She nodded against his chest and pulled him closer to her. After a second she let out a short, bitter laugh. "We were so happy to have a lead... I didn't expect this to be where it took us."  
  
Grissom gently kissed the top of her head. "None of us did, honey... None of us did."  
  
*****  
  
Marc smiled when he opened the door to find Catherine standing outside, but his eyes still showed his sadness. He stepped out and hugged her, whispering to her that it was good to see her.  
  
She gave a small smile back, then Marc seemed to notice Brass and Grissom standing behind her.  
  
"You know something," he said. It seemed to be more a statement than a question.  
  
Catherine nodded. "Can we come in?"  
  
He stepped back inside and led them through two doors into a living room, slightly smaller, but similarly decorated, to the one that had been used on their previous visits.  
  
"I ... can't face that room," Marc explained, seeing a slight look of confusion on Brass and Grissom's faces. Catherine had already figured that out.  
  
He indicated for them to sit down and offered them something to drink, before sitting down opposite them when they declined.  
  
"I already know that I'm not going to like it. So could you just... tell me?" Marc said quietly, his voice cracking slightly.  
  
Catherine took a deep breath and looked at him, her mind immediately flashing up images of his face as she stopped him from holding Ryanne. She knew she wasn't going to get through this without crying. And she didn't particularly care.  
  
"We found the computer from which the last email was sent," she began, the tears already building up in her eyes. "And we got information on the person who rented the apartment in which it was found." She paused trying to decide how to continue. "The woman's name was Anne Morris – "  
  
Catherine stopped when Marc's hand flew to cover his mouth and his eyes widened as if with fear. She glanced at Grissom and Brass to find that they were frowning as she was.  
  
"You... recognise that name?" she asked him.  
  
Marc swallowed hard and then said: "Morris is... was Ryanne's real surname. Moores was a stage name... She used to go by the name Anne when she was little, because Ryanne was unusual, and the kids used to make fun of her..." He looked at them, his eyes pleading. "But that's just a coincidence, right?... You're not... You can't be telling me what I think..." His voice trailed off as his disbelief overtook him.  
  
Catherine internally prayed that she would wake up any minute and it would all have been a nightmare, but that didn't seem to be about to happen. Her voice was shaking as she resumed her explanation of their findings.  
  
"Marc, the picture of Anne Morris that we were given is... of Ryanne."  
  
Marc shook his head strongly. "No... It's gotta be a mistake."  
  
"The hair colour and style, and the eye colour are different, but it is Ryanne... And together with what you just – "  
  
"No! She wouldn't do this! Why... Why ... What possible reason could she have? How can you think she would do this?!" he demanded, the occasional tear falling free from his eyes as he shook his head.  
  
Catherine swallowed the lump in her throat, and took another deep breath to continue. "The computer we found was programmed to send several more emails... The last of which was an explanation, from Ryanne, saying why she did it. Saying she hoped the publicity from all this would divert attention from your film not being very good."  
  
Marc's eyes widened further on hearing this. "Anyone could have written that."  
  
Catherine nodded. "I know... But together with the picture, and the name. That's the conclusion that's been drawn."  
  
Seeing that Catherine was getting very emotional, Brass took over.  
  
"Ryanne's death will be recorded as suicide... And the case is closed," he said, knowing that he sounded callous, but also knowing that Marc needed to be told, and directly was probably the best way.  
  
Anger flared in Marc eyes and he stood up. "Get out!"  
  
Grissom and Brass stood quietly. Catherine stepped towards Marc.  
  
"This is ridiculous! Get out there and find whoever killed her!" he yelled, tears now freely cascading down his cheeks.  
  
"Marc..." Catherine tried, reaching out for him.  
  
He pulled away from her. "Get out!"  
  
Tears now spilling down her own cheeks Catherine reluctantly followed Brass and Grissom as they led her out of the house. She heard Marc crying as they walked through the house, and her heart broke at the sound.  
  
Outside Grissom wrapped Catherine in his arms, and held her as she cried.  
  
"God, Gil," she mumbled through her sobs against his chest.  
  
"It was never gonna be easy, honey. But it had to be done."  
  
"He hates me!" she cried.  
  
Grissom stroked her hair softly. "He doesn't hate you. He just needs time to deal with all this... Give him time." He lifted her chin to get her to look at him. "He doesn't hate you. He's gonna need you. Just give him time."  
  
Catherine nodded as fresh tears slipped down her face. Grissom gently wiped them away then kissed where they had been.  
  
"Let's go home."  
  
*****  
  
Marc looked at the photograph of himself and Ryanne, taken at her last birthday party. She was smiling, laughing at something the photographer had just said. He'd always loved her smile, and the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed. Holding the photograph against his chest, he dropped himself onto the sofa and smiled at the happy memory.  
  
This was how he remembered her. This was how he wanted to always remember her.  
  
TBC... 


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Disclaimer – see chapter one  
  
Chapter 18  
  
A week later...  
  
The door opened and Catherine looked up at Marc. When he didn't immediately slam it shut in her face, she tentatively tried a greeting.  
  
"Hi."  
  
Marc gave a small smile, and responded, "Hi."  
  
"I know I'm probably the last – "  
  
Marc cut her off. "Please, come in... I've been meaning to call you. To apologise," he explained as he closed the door behind her.  
  
"Oh, there's no need... There's nothing for you to apologise for."  
  
"I was horrible to you... I could see that you were upset, you obviously didn't like it any more than I did, but I just... snapped."  
  
"Honestly, you don't need to apologise..." Catherine assured him as she followed him through to the living room.  
  
"I've just been sorting through some of Ryanne's stuff," he explained, gesturing the piles of photo albums spread around the room. A smile formed as he said: "She's done some crazy things." Then, realising what he had said, the smile slowly fell again and a momentary awkward silence fell over the room.  
  
To break the silence Catherine offered a small smile, then said, "Do you mind if I have a look?"  
  
Marc shook his head and the two of them sat down on the sofa. Catherine picked up the nearest photo album. Turning to the first page they both laughed at a photograph of Ryanne, in a giraffe outfit, sitting in a tree. Catherine looked at Marc questioningly.  
  
"Some fundraising event when she was at college," he explained.  
  
"Ah!" Catherine smiled.  
  
A few pages later they came across a number of pictures that were ripped, either leaving just Ryanne, or Ryanne and one or two other people.  
  
"Ah," Marc said upon seeing them, "These obviously had Karl in them."  
  
"Ex-boyfriend?" Catherine asked with an understanding nod.  
  
"Yeah. They were together all through college, then he went crazily jealous when Ryanne started acting. He started following her to the sets and picking fights with her leading men. Then one day he hit her and that was the final straw."  
  
Catherine shook her head. "Men!... No offence."  
  
"None taken," Marc smiled. "It always annoyed her that there was one picture she couldn't cut him out of. It was a group photo and he was in too awkward a place without ruining the rest of it."  
  
Marc took the album and flipped through two more pages of torn photographs before stopping at a page with two group photographs on. "Here... That's him there. Ryanne had a party to celebrate the release of her first film, and she invited him, thinking they might be able to salvage a friendship. But he got drunk and they got into another fight. Thankfully his family moved to Africa and he went with them. Ryanne said it still wasn't far enough away, but she couldn't find anyone to send him to the moon."  
  
Marc's speaking slowed when he noticed the thoughtful look on Catherine's face.  
  
"Catherine? Are you okay?"  
  
"Yeah... Can I borrow this? I'll explain later. If this is what I think it is."  
  
Marc frowned. "Sure."  
  
*****  
  
Grissom followed Catherine towards Brass's office.  
  
"Cath? Are you gonna tell me what's going on?" he asked, having to virtually run in order to keep up with her.  
  
She had called him at home and told him to meet her at the police station. Apparently she had done the same with Brass, as the detective looked half asleep when they reached him.  
  
"What's so important?" Brass asked as Catherine burst through the door.  
  
"Do you recognise this man?" she asked, dropping an enhanced section of the photograph onto the desk.  
  
Brass picked it up and studied it closely. "It looks like a very young Pete Hooper."  
  
Catherine smiled triumphantly, then frowned as she realised what he'd said. "Pete?"  
  
Brass nodded.  
  
Grissom was lost in this conversation so far. "The landlord?"  
  
Catherine quickly nodded to answer Grissom's question then turned back to Brass. "Not Karl Hooper?"  
  
Brass shook his head. "What's going on? Where did you get this?"  
  
"This is a picture of Ryanne Moores' ex-boyfriend, who moved to Africa shortly after this picture was taken, and who she did not have an amicable break-up from."  
  
Brass and Grissom's eyes all widened as they came to the same conclusion she had.  
  
Catherine smiled. "Exactly."  
  
*****  
  
Mr Hooper was outside the apartment block talking to some children when the detective and CSIs arrived. They had parked their cars down the street so he wouldn't be expecting them.  
  
In keeping with their plan, Catherine walked into the car park first and shouted "Karl!"  
  
Mr Hooper immediately turned round, asking, "What?"  
  
Catherine smiled. "Guess that answers that question."  
  
*****  
  
Hooper and his lawyer sat in the interrogation room opposite Brass and Catherine. The suspect's body language oozed confidence, as he sat back in his chair, one arm draped over the back of it, the other loosely resting in his lap. Very different, Brass noted, from the business like man who had brought in the photograph and file.  
  
"Mr Hooper," Brass began. "What was your relationship with Ryanne Moores?"  
  
Hooper frowned and looked at his lawyer who nodded. He then turned back to Brass. "We used to date. In college. Haven't seen her in about fifteen years."  
  
"Really?" Brass asked.  
  
Hooper frowned and nodded.  
  
"Do you recognise this picture?" Brass said, dropping a photograph of 'Anne Morris' onto the table.  
  
"Yes. I gave you that. It's the woman who rented that apartment... Oh, so I guess I have seen her. The papers are saying that's Ryanne. I didn't recognise her at the time."  
  
Catherine smiled. "This isn't the picture you gave us."  
  
Hooper sat forward and looked closely at the photograph and a look of panic washed over his face.  
  
Catherine stood up, dropping several more pictures of the same woman onto the table as she spoke. "And neither is this one... this one... this one... or this one... All found on your computer. And all available on the internet. If you know where to look."  
  
"Which you did," Brass continued. "Because you knew Ryanne when she made this film. It didn't do very well, very few people would recognise that that's where the pictures came from."  
  
Hooper was defiantly silent.  
  
"You don't need to talk, Mr Hooper," Catherine took over. "Your computer says it all for you."  
  
"My client is a fan of Miss Moores, that's why the photographs were on his computer," the lawyer tried.  
  
"Oh," Catherine said. "Well he wasn't a fan anymore. They'd all been deleted. As had this." Catherine placed a copy of the photograph he had given them onto the table.  
  
"Again, this doesn't prove anything. He is entitled to delete whatever he likes from his computer."  
  
Catherine nodded. "I agree... But this," she pointed to the last photograph, "doesn't exist on the internet in this form. It's a cropped version of this." She placed another photograph onto the table this time a full length shot of the woman, from the shoulders up, it being the same photograph. "And both were found amongst your client's deleted files."  
  
"Miss Moores could easily have cropped a copy of that picture herself, and my client could have cropped his copy for many innocent reasons."  
  
Catherine nodded again. "Again, I agree. But we also found these."  
  
The lawyer opened the folder that Catherine handed to him and examined the contents. Copies of the letters that had been sent to Marc.  
  
"You figured you would never be a suspect, didn't you?" Brass asked.  
  
"You had no reason to be sending death threats to Marc Weston, and no reason to want to kill him," Catherine added.  
  
"And we fell for it," Brass admitted.  
  
"We thought the whole thing was about Marc."  
  
"When all along it was your intention to kill Ryanne. Quite an elaborate plan."  
  
"One thing we didn't understand though is how you could be so sure you could kill Ryanne on the night of the premiere... I mean, your threats implied that something would happen that night. And it did."  
  
"There's no way you could get into that house, how could you be sure to poison her that night?"  
  
An evil smirk spread onto Hooper's face. "That bitch was still as crazy as the day I met her."  
  
The lawyer's eyes widened as he heard his client beginning to confess. He turned to him quickly and tried to stop him, but he ignored him. He had put a lot of time and effort into this, he wanted it to be appreciated.  
  
"She had this obsession with water. And used to keep bottles and bottles of it in the fridge. Lined up, seven a day, in order, so she could make sure she drank seven every day. She was neurotic about it. But I loved her. So I accepted it... When I opened the fridge and saw how many bottles of water were in there I knew she was still as obsessive as ever. And it gave me the idea. I knew if I threatened action at the premiere, Marc would never let her go. She'd be home, she'd drink the water. And he'd return home to find her dead."  
  
"And it would look like Marc had been the target," Catherine commented.  
  
Hooper smiled proudly. "At first I didn't care which one of them died. Either way, she would suffer... But when I knew that it would be her that drank it, that seemed like a better idea."  
  
"And then you just sat back and watched us pick up all your breadcrumbs. The apartment, the computer, the emails" Brass said.  
  
"Yep... Newspapers are a wonderful thing. Keeping you up to date on what you're all doing... I must admit I did feel a little sad that the world would never know of all my hard work," Hooper grinned.  
  
Catherine leaned over the table towards him, her glare boring into him. "Oh, don't worry, you're gonna get all the publicity you deserve!"  
  
THE END 


End file.
